A Better Man
by vcatrashfiend
Summary: Eliza has married Freddy, as foretold by Shaw. Will their little family survive The Great War? Will Higgins ever forgive her? *Reviews are a fanfiction writer's only compensation. Please be generous, even if you hate it!*
1. Prologue: Turn Left

A Better Man

By: vcatrashfiend

Rating: T for mature themes

Summary: Eliza marries Freddy Eynsford-Hill as foretold by Shaw. Will their little family survive the Great War? Will Higgins ever forgive her?

Author's note: This plot bunny has been nagging at me for over a half year, and I must bring it forth. It's a bit of a monster bunny, one that will not be resolved quickly. Let my usual readers be warned, this is Freddy/Eliza for at least the first part. Also, I will have the epilogue to "A Hole in the River" very shortly!

* * *

><p><em>This being the state of human affairs, what is Eliza fairly sure to do when she is placed between Freddy and Higgins? Will she look forward to a lifetime of fetching Higgins's slippers or to a lifetime of Freddy fetching hers? There can be no doubt about the answer. Unless Freddy is biologically repulsive to her, and Higgins biologically attractive to a degree that overwhelms all her other instincts, she will, if she marries either of them, marry Freddy.<em>

_And that is just what Eliza did._

-From epilogue of the play 'Pygmalion' by George Bernard Shaw

* * *

><p><strong><span>Late Spring, 1912<span>**

"Gretna Green? Why the blazes would she go to Gretna Green?"

"Language, Henry! Eliza went to Gretna Green because she is barely twenty years old, and Mr. Eynsford-Hill does not turn twenty-one for another three months."

Henry found himself back at his mother's residence, after storming home, despondantly listening to his phonograph, and realising that he could not do without Eliza. He had hoped that the girl had not have gotten far, or that his mother would be able to point him in the right direction. He now found his hopes being dashed with two fatal words that together formed the name of a destination popular for'runaway marriages'.

"The girl was bluffing, Mother; she isn't going to marry Freddy."

"Will she not? I gave her train fare so that she could."

"You did what?"

Eleanor Higgins chuckled, her eyes held a dreamy, faraway look. "I think it is all very romantic; Freddy Eynsford-Hill is quite besotted with her, and with her background she could hardly do better."

Henry's jaw dropped. "After all of the work I put into that insect, she could do no worse! I did not waste six months of my life just so my creation could flit off to Scotland with a sniveling idiot whose equally idiotic mother suffers in genteel poverty at Largelady Park!"

"Mrs. Eynsford-Hill is a very dear friend of mine, and I won't have you insulting her!"

"Such a dear friend she must be, that you feel you have to encourage her son to elope without telling her."

Eleanor opened her mouth in astonishment, but gave no reply.

"Why the secrecy, Mother?"

"Henry, you know that she hopes for an advantageous match for her son. Unfortunately, the boy is very easily swayed by her, and I thought that it would be cruel to allow him to act against his heart in this matter."

Henry raised an eyebrow."You are disgustingly romantic, Mother; when did this happen?"

Eleanor sniffed, and looked away. "I was young once."

"Indeed, you were. It was to your advantage to marry Father, and you did - without thought to romance, I might add."

"Without that match, I would not have had you - you were my greatest, and only comfort in that marriage."

"I am sure the financial security was a comfort."

Eleanor glared. "You are your father's son, so I do not expect you to understand."

"Father was a very fine man, and I thank you for the comparison!"

A muscle twitched in Eleanor's cheek, and she pressed her lips into a thin, tight line. "I do not wish to take this conversation any further, Henry. It makes me feel unwell, and I would appreciate it if you would go back to your own home, and sulk there."

And that is just what Henry did.

Several weeks later, and many miles away, Eliza was about to bid farewell to Doolittle, and greet the more elegant Eynsford-Hill. She and Freddy had just finished their twenty-one days' residence required for an 'Over the Anvil' wedding, and were saying their vows before a blacksmith.

The wait had been a costly one, as Eliza had insisted on seperate lodgings. She thought it was bad enough that they were eloping, she would not further damage her reputation by sharing a room with a man who was not yet her husband. Freddy, always ready to oblige, had agreed whole-heartedly. Eliza's virtue was priceless to him, and he would protect it at any cost.

They became as one later that night, in a shy, awkward fashion. Neither quite knew what to do, but instinct took over as it usually does in such cases, and the deed was done. Freddy was immensely pleased with himself, and keen for another go, while Eliza found herself wondering what all the fuss was about.

"I love you," Freddy declared, shortly after their introduction to the marriage bed.

Eliza smiled at Freddy, and reached across the bed to caress his cheek. He was terribly handsome. If it were not for the good, simple humour that constantly played across his features, Eliza would have taken him for a rake with his dark, silky hair, high cheekbones, and intense blue-grey eyes that would have been piercing if they weren't constantly twinkling with merriment.

"You are so good to me, Freddy." Impulsively, she ran a fingertip along the bridge of his fine, straight nose. It was slightly aquiline, and again, were it not for his sweetness, would have otherwise given him the appearance of a predatory hawk.

Freddy smiled, and leaned in to give Eliza a heartbreakingly tender kiss. "I promise to be as such until the day I die, Mrs. Eynsford-Hill."

Fortunately, the art of lovemaking soon proved to be quite nice for Eliza upon repetition; unfortunately, the young couple found that they barely had enough funds to travel home, and were loathe to depart from their little paradise.

Once home, they immediately found three doors closed to them. Freddy's mother absolutely refused to receive her son and her daughter-in-law; Eliza's father was indifferent, and his new residence was undergoing remodeling; Henry Higgins had instructed a reluctant Mrs. Pearce to turn the pair away flat, but invited Eliza to try again in a few weeks, once Henry had time to allow his temper to even itself out.

Mrs. Higgins immediately took the pair into her home. Colonel Pickering happened to be paying a call at the time, and he greeted both Freddy and Eliza with gushing enthusiasm, and a wedding present of five hundred pounds.

"Colonel Pickering, I cannot-"

"Tosh! Of course you can. I will not accept a refusal to a perfectly reasonable wedding gift, nor to the flower shop I've already purchased for you."

Eliza burst into tears.

"Come now, Miss Doolittle, do not cry. I consider it an investment," Pickering explained, as Freddy desperately tried to dab at Eliza's tears with a handkerchief. She waved Freddy away, and smiled at her benefactor through her tears.

"You are the greatest man I have even know." Freddy did not feel any pangs of jealousy over hearing his wife's statement, for he knew it was true. Such generosity was unprecedented, and the two of them would be indebted to the Colonel for the rest of their lives.

Colonel Pickering blushed at Eliza's pronouncement of him. "It really is nothing, my dear. There is even a charming little flat above that the pair of you can live in until the shop generates enough capital for better lodgings."

"Or you may live here, and let out the flat for more income," Eleanor offered.

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Higgins, but I do believe the flat will do quite nicely. I do not think your son would like the idea of me living here."

Eleanor was on the verge of declaring that her son could hang, but thought better of it. She was a lady after all, and was honor bound to set a good example for Eliza, who was very young.

"Very well, my dear. I am sure my son will come around eventually, once his pride stops stinging so."

After several hours of pleasantries, Eleanor invited Colonel Pickering, Eliza, and Freddy to have dinner with her, which they all accepted. It was a very fine affair, and Eleanor even had her best bottle of wine opened for the occasion, which they all used to toast to the future. Eliza smiled glowingly at her new husband, and decided that it was very possible that she could come to love him.

They had all the time in the world, after all.


	2. Settling

A Better Man

Chapter One

Settling

Author's note: I am anxious for feedback on this little tale, as the plot bunny has been steadily chewing at my brain for a very long time, and I would have to say that it is a bit of a pet project of mine.

* * *

><p><strong>4 August 1914<strong>

Freddy Eynsford-Hill and his wife Eliza found themselves dinner guests at Eleanor Higgins' home for the third time in the week. A part of Freddy knew that it was less for the pleasure of their company, and more as a charitable act. Eliza's flower shop had had a bit of a rough start, and while things seemed to be running a bit more smooth as of late, it still seemed as though the pair of them would always be locked in a bit of a financial struggle... not that they couldn't afford to feed themselves.

Freddy, who had never questioned where money or support stemmed from in his life, was beginning to grow a bit resentful at the seemingly endless flow of "charity" that came to his wife and himself. At first, he had been delighted that his new wife was able to inspire such loyalty from people who were not family. It was touching, that she be so very cared for just on the merit of her charm and grace. Lately, though, it seemed to haunt him as a sign of his inability to care for her himself.

The feelings of ineptitude had started for Freddy about six months after he and Eliza had taken over the shop. They had nearly lost the whole thing, due to both their inexperience, and Colonel Pickering had swooped in eleventh hour with a tutor in tow. The outstanding debts had been paid off, and Professor Strallen spent two nights out of the week teaching Eliza and Freddy about sound business choices.

Eliza excelled under the man's tutelage, while Freddy plodded along and struggled greatly. He had never been a serious scholar during his years at Eton, and after his father's death, he had been pulled from school altogether, to attend to his grieving mother and younger sister, Clara. Freddy's education, therefore, was entirely negligible. However, he was quite sure that his education was comparably more extensive than his wife's.

_"She is a genius, Mr. Eynsford-Hill; what a first rate brain!" _Professor Strallen had complimented one night, as Eliza was fixing tea. Freddy had been very proud at the compliment, although it had been soured considerably by the exasperated looks and sighs the professor had bestowed upon him during the lesson. At a later lesson, Freddy had overheard the professor's report to Colonel Pickering. It had gone along a similiar line as his compliment to Freddy, although, assuming that the conversation was private, Professor Strallen had lamented Freddy's lack of intelligence.

_"Such a pity; that young lady ought to be worshipped and cared for, instead she seems fated to be the one to carry that family afloat." _Freddy colored deeply when he heard Colonel Pickering agree.

_"He would have not been my first choice for her, but he loves her so dearly, and that must count for something."_

Freddy had never thought about his lack of skill in caring for Eliza up until that point. The marriage up until that point had been jolly fun, for him. Eliza was a fine girl, and he delighted in making her laugh, giving her little presents, and just being around her. Of course the shop had been turning out to be a disaster, but Freddy looked at it as an experiment of sorts. The pair of them would soldier on together, as husband and wife should!

Now, thanks to the money Colonel Pickering had poured into educating the two of them, the shop was starting to flourish. Freddy couldn't help but feel that it all had absolutely nothing to do with him, especially since Eliza locked up all of the books in her escritoire, and refused to let him, or anyone look at them. Eliza had given him an extensive education on the best blooms, and prices for them, and delegated him as a glorified errand and delivery boy, and she had done so with a patronising kiss on the cheek.

So life had gone on, with regular dinners at Mrs. Higgins' home, and the seemingly permanent presence of Colonel Pickering, and recently, Professor Higgins. In fact, the man was present at the table that evening. It was rare for the professor to join his mother at dinner, let alone with the Eynsford-Hills' present. Eliza and the professor had struck up a bit of an unspoken truce, although what they had been arguing about, Freddy had no idea. All he knew was when they were in the same room together, they both seemed to be locked in a battle of wills.

"Mrs. Eynsford-Hill, that frock becomes more lovely everytime I see it. What has it been, two years since you acquired it?" Eliza narrowed her eyes at Professor Higgins' tactless remark, pressing her lips into a thin, disapproving line. It was true that Eliza was remarkably frugal when it came to her clothing. Her evening wear had been mended on several occasions, with the hemlines adjusted for the current styles. However, it rankled her pride that some people had a sharp enough eye (and tongue) to notice such things and remark upon them in public.

"Good heavens, Henry! I will not invite you to dine if you are going to be so consistently rude to my guests," Mrs. Higgins scolded.

Henry grumbled his apologies, half-heartedly. The truth of the matter was, he did not know what he had been planning when he tried to appeal to Eliza those years ago, before learning she had run off and eloped, but her marriage to Freddy was a constant source of irritation. If he had been honest with himself, Henry would've confessed that his heart had been just a little broken at the news. After several months of isolating himself from Eliza, he thought he would be ready to face her cordially; alas, it never quite worked out that way. The boy was constantly finding excuses to exchange glances and caresses with Eliza, and she, for her part, never put him off of it. That the boy dare touch Henry's masterpiece inflamed him; that Eliza allowed and seemed to enjoy the attention caused that flame to burst into a veritable inferno, although he hid it well, and masked it with the usual acidic rhetoric he bestowed upon everyone. She was happy, and he was miserable.

"I think you look very lovely, my dear. I am glad that you are so clever with that sort of thing; I do not believe that any other normal sort of chap, with things other than fripperies on his mind, would have been able to even notice that the gown is not fresh from a designer's shop." Freddy patted his wife's gloved hand, and smirked. Eliza grinned at the unexpected jibe from her husband, and covered her mouth to disguise her mirth.

Henry opened his mouth to attack Freddy with a stinging rejoinder, when a strangled female cry came from the corridor. The party stood up at once, and fled to the door of the dining room to investigate. The butler was kneeling on the floor, cradling an unconscious maid to his chest. The woman had clearly fainted.

"What is the meaning of this, Swithin?" Eleanor Higgins demanded.

"Terrible news, ma'am." The usually reserved man seemed beside himself.

"Out with it, I beg you!"

Swithin sighed. "We are at war with Germany."


	3. Duty

A Better Man

Chapter Two

Duty

Author's Note: I thought I would take this time to answer a few questions that have come up in reviews, kind of like an unofficial FAQ. Alrighty, here goes:

Q: Wouldn't this officially be considered a sequel to the sequel of "Pygmalion" by George Bernard Shaw, and not to "My Fair Lady".

A: I suppose you could say that. However, many of the characters in my mind - Freddy in particular- look like the actors that portrayed them in the movie musical. (Jeremy Brett, be still my beating heart!) Also, I feel that the Higgins of "Pygmalion" would not run back to his mother's to appeal to Eliza one last time, as I have him do in this fic. This is just my humble opinion of course. I pulled Clara out of the "Pygmalion" storage just because I felt Eliza needed a female of her own age to interract with, and she is fun to write for.

Q: How can you justify this being an Eliza/Henry piece when she is in a consumated relationship with Freddy?

A: I suppose you will have to read and find out! It won't be easy, that is for sure.

I suppose those were the only two questions that really needed to be addressed, but I would like to address Never You Mind's concern in her review. Do not worry, my dear. I have the wonderfully insightful Jacqueline Viana to cyber-smack me across the skull if I make Higgins too lovey-dovey. *wink*

Anyway, thank you all so very much or reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I've neglected to put up a disclaimer in previous chapters. Please don't sue, I am making no money off of this!

* * *

><p><em>War<em>. Eliza took Freddy's hand in her own and squeezed. Cold fear washed over as she was suddenly very aware of how young her husband was. Freddy looked down at his wife, whose eyes had been on him from the moment Swithin made the grave announcement. He wanted very badly to smile reassuringly at her, to prove that he could manage a stiff upper lip if it meant allaying her fears - however, Freddy was too paralyzed with fear to manage anything more returning a gentle squeeze, no more than a slight, tremulous pressure.

No one in the corridor spoke for a very long time. Eliza and Freddy had just been children when the war in South Africa had occured; Freddy's father had been too old to serve, and Eliza's father was just young enough, but not at all interested in the military - therefore the two had been spared the keen pain of losing a close relative to war. The concept was foreign to them, and the conflict existed in fading memories of witnessing parades from their vantage points on top of their respective paterfamilias' broad shoulders.

Henry and his mother, of course knew of families who had lost their sons to the previous war, but the Higgins family was a pitifully small tree, and therefore no one in Henry's close sphere had been touched by the ravages of South Africa.

Colonel Pickering had experienced the disease and the death first hand. He himself had survived the many typhoid outbreaks, but only just. He had watched brothers-in-arms die on the battlefield, and waste away to nothing in hospital cots. He had set fire to crops, and had been party to other activities that made life for the enemy unbearable. A Mauser bullet through the shoulder, coupled with a near-fatal bout of typhoid had sent him home with a few tenuous threads of his humanity still intact. He had felt the stirrings of conflict for some time now, but Swithin's announcement still had hit him with such violence that it took his breath away. He looked to the young couple standing next to him, saw Eliza's anxiety, and studied Freddy very carefully. The boy was obviously terrified, but Pickering knew the look in his eyes; it was the steady gaze of one who was just realising their duty, and suddenly Pickering felt very badly for Eliza.

"Oh dear," Eleanor finally managed. It was an underreaction, to be sure, but the silence in the room was growing most unbearable, and she felt something had to be said.

The party disbanded shortly after, no one having anything of an appetite anymore, and all returning to their respective homes in a sort of numb, worldless trance. When Eliza and Freddy finally reached their bedroom, Eliza broke down.

"Freddy you mustn't be brave!" She cried, her voice violently desperate.

Freddy was astonished at Eliza's outburst. The thought of bravery had plagued him the entire way home. It was just something men did, when the situation arose, after all. Freddy would've been lying if he admitted that the thought of playing soldier had not appealed to him greatly ever since he was a young boy. His mother had discouraged any mention of it while he was growing up, mortally terrified of losing a son in addition to a husband. Now he was well of age, and there was a war. Freddy was more than a little ignorant about politics, but he knew that this had been a possibility for some time now - that something had been in the air, waiting to descend upon his sheltered world like a tempest, and he was very keen.

However, the more hysterical Eliza became, the more the feeling lessened and devolved into husbandly concern for his wife's nerves. She was now reduced to choking sobs, and torrential tears, her face pressed against his chest, and her arms about him, embracing him with surprisingly vice-like strength born of sheer, almost child-like, terror. He had never seen her like this in all of his days.

"Darling - oh, my love!" He crooned, petting her hair. Eliza suddenly pulled away from his embrace, and cupped his face between her delicate, cool hands. Her eyes were wild.

"You. Must. Not. Leave. Do you understand me?" Her voice had changed from a hyperventilating, vaguely cockney mess, to a cold-as-steel, steady tones in the span of mere moments. Freddy did not comprehend, but still very much wanted to reassure his wife at the same time. He nodded.

"Good." Eliza kissed him hard on the mouth, and Freddy noted a faint tremor in her lips. He would not - could not leave her, if this was the way such a decision would affect her. His devotion to his country was strong, and natural, but his wife superceded any and all prior loyalties, vaguely treasonous as it sounded.

**Spring 1915**

Life for Freddy went on much as it had before. He continued assisting Eliza with the shop, although business was once again starting to dwindle. After the Zeppelins appeared, people were less likely to crowd the streets in pursuit of commerce as they once had. Sadly, it seemed that funeral wreaths were their one dependable source of income.

Age and constitution had forced Colonel Pickering to remain in England, but he kept himself busy between helping run a munitions factory and various work at the hospitals. Freddy had taken a position at the factory to supplement the income that Eliza's shop was losing, although he sensed that Pickering had hired him on as a kindness, and not in faith of his work ethic.

Freddy's mother still refused contact, even with the war going on. It seemed that she refused to care whether Freddy served or he didn't. Clara Eynsford-Hill, an aspiring bohemian, still kept in contact, and become a confidante of sorts to Eliza. Her company was shallow, but earnest, and Eliza delighted in it in her own way, not ever having a real female friend before in her life. Freddy dearly loved his sister, and as they were of such a similiar disposition, he never showcased resentment at her suddenly constant presence. The war had cut short her decidedly modern travels, but she was more than happy to regale Eliza with tales of them, from the safety of the Eynsford-Hill's pitifully small parlour.

"Dearest, I think that Freddy is very down in the mouth," Clara declared to Eliza over tea. Freddy was working late at the factory, and therefore was not privy to the meeting.

Eliza sighed, and set down her cup. "I am afraid he wants to fight. So many of his friends are already enlisted, and several of them..." Eliza's voice trailed off. The news of Gallipoli had deeply affected Freddy, and the dear, jolly boy that had so unashamedly fallen in love with her was beginning to slip through her fingers. Eliza knew that Freddy would die, rather than show an ounce of resentment towards herself, but she felt it in the tenseness that overcame her husband everytime she touched him lately.

"You ought to let him sooner or later, you know." Clara, no matter how modern she claimed she was, was nevertheless shocked at how much control Eliza exhibited over Freddy's existence. To forbid him from enlisting - the very idea!

Eliza said nothing, but had grown very pale. It was true, she knew she ought not to stand in the way of Freddy's ever-intensifying patriotism, but still she clung. If he died, her conscience would smite her. She had married him without loving him, which was unfair enough. Eliza felt deep down that if Freddy was sent to the front, God would certainly have him killed to punish Eliza for her crime. True, she felt something very akin to love for Freddy, but instinctually, without much prior experience, she knew it was not of a very romantic sort. She was... immensely fond of him, and enjoyed nearly every aspect of their marriage, but something essential was missing.

Later that night, Freddy was walking home from the factory. Fewer and fewer men were working alongside of him, and he was acutely aware of the fact that he was now in the minority. Posters taunted him as he strolled along. 'IF ENGLAND FAILS, YOU FAIL' they screamed at him, in letters that may as well have been sixteen hands high.

'WHO'S ABSENT? IS IT YOU?' With every glaringly disapproving message, Freddy felt the strength of Eliza's hold slip more and more.

'WOMEN OF BRITAIN SAY - GO!' Freddy smiled bitterly at that one. Not his woman of Britain. Although, someday, she may very well be ashamed that Freddy did not enlist. The thought of her shame was humiliating to Freddy. Once the fear for his life would begin to ebb, it was inevitable that she would find him weak, and ineffectual. What if they had children? What would he say to them when they asked him about his role in the War? It was not a pleasant thought.

Freddy stopped along the way to have a drink at the pub. It was a matter of strengthening his resolve; to do what had to be done. Two pints would have to be enough to steel himself against Eliza. Any more and his arguments would come out slurred, and she would undoubtedly be upset that he would come home so very late for dinner. Two were sufficient.

His face fell when he saw that his sister was joining them for dinner. Ah, well; it still had to be done, and Clara might appeal to his mother with the tale, if she were there to witness. If his mother would reconcile with him, Eliza's future welfare would be secured, should he die. His mother had recently married again, and her straits were not so very dire anymore, despite the war.

"Eliza, Clara, I have an announcement," Freddy began, as the trio finished their simple dinner. He had their attention, although it occured to Freddy that it seemed they were prepared, and resigned. Something had happened while he was away, and Eliza miraculously did not argue. Clara kissed his cheek and called him a 'brave, dear thing', but Eliza stayed silent, and eventually excused herself for the night.


	4. Til We Meet Again

A Better Man

Chapter Three

'Til We Meet Again

Author's note: Suprise and Happy Sunday, I've a double update for you all!

* * *

><p><em>10 May 1915<em>

_Dear Mrs. Pryce,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to start by offering my felicitations on your recent marriage. I have heard that your new position and household suits you very well, and this makes me very glad. _

_I do hope that you will forgive me if I do not continue this letter in such a cordial and inconsequential fashion, for I have a grave matter to inform you of. _

_Freddy is going off to fight. He was very firm on his position about a week ago, but the sinking of the Luisitania has completely strengthened his resolve. In exactly a weeks' time, he shall be going off to training, and then to the front. Since you have made no attempt to correspond with us, even with the outbreak of war, I will assume you have hardened yourself against your own son, and that you are convinced his possible death will not affect you; however, I beesech you to put this aside, and come to see him off at the train station. Freddy speaks of you often, and always with sadness. I do believe that your appearance would lift his spirits, and if he went off with a light heart, I think I could bear this a bit better._

_Freddy needs his mother._

_Sincerely,_

_Eliza Eynsford-Hill_

Eliza rubbed her tired eyes, and pulled her shawl tighter against her frame. There was a slight chill in the spring air, and she had been unable to sleep. She had had a mind to write a letter to Freddy's mother for some time, but each previous attempt had turned out wrong. Hostility that she did not want to be apparent had oozed maliciously from nearly every word in other letters; however, as the date of Freddy's departure drew near, Eliza felt that old anger start to ebb, and be replaced with a real desire for her husband to see his mother one last time.

Mrs. Pryce, formerly Eynsford-Hill had been the centre of Freddy's universe for so long that even now, two years after their seperation, he seemed sometimes lost without her constant guidance. Eliza found herself being constantly consulted on matters as small as which pair of socks he ought to wear for which occasion, or being inquired about the weather in a manner that suggested she controlled the outlook - this had the potential to be both endearing and irritating at the same time.

Eliza looked over her shoulder, to the barely wide-enough-for-two bed where her husband slumbered. The lit candle that Eliza had employed in order to aid her writing had not disturbed him a bit. It was strange that his sleep went so consistently uninterrupted, while hers came late, and stayed lightly. He was the one going off to fight, after all, not her.

She crossed the room and crawled into bed, wrapping her arms about Freddy, who responded to the gesture by snorting softly, and turning about in her arms so he faced her, his forehead nearly brushing her own. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled drowsily at the vision before him.

"You ought to sleep you know," he chided, kissing her on the forehead.

"I cannot; you sleep enough for the both of us, my darling." Eliza smiled bravely, a gesture that chased away the haunted look about her thin pale face, and dark-rimmed, red tinged eyes.

"You are such a brave little love."

"Would that I could fight in your place."

Freddy kissed her quite suddenly, and fiercely after that remark. "Never say such a thing ever again," he admonished after they parted, panting and breathless. His voice was authorative, and gravely serious. He never used such a tone with Eliza before in her life.

They were silent for a short while, before Freddy began, "I've arranged for you to lodge with Mrs. Higgins while I am away. I've spoken with prospective tenants, and I've found a couple that will reside here, and that will give you a little extra income."

Eliza sat up suddenly, and looked down at her husband with astonishment plain on her face. "You've done all of this without consulting me?"

"I will not have you living alone while I cannot protect you. London is not safe anymore."

"Mrs. Higgins is hardly a protector; not that I would need one."

"No, she is not; but her residence is rather larger than ours, and her son has closed up his house on Wimpole street to stay with her as well."

Eliza laughed in a quick, nearly manic, burst. "Professor Higgins is to stand sentry over something that isn't books?"

"Colonel Pickering will of course be there."

"Oh, very cozy."

Freddy sighed and covered his face with his hands. In theory, he believed that his attempt to put his foot down with Eliza would work, but facing her stubborn temper was proving to be quite trying "I do not know why you are being so hostile about this, darling."

Eliza's resolved softened at the sight of Freddy's distress. She was being very unreasonable - what would happen if she were to deny the last request he ever made of her. It could very well be that last request. When Freddy sat up and pulled her into his arms, she realised that the thought had brought tears to her eyes. Soon she was crying in earnest, and Freddy was rocking her like a baby, stroking her hair and whispering reassuring nothings into her ear. Sleep soon overtook her, having finally exhausted the grief that she had kept locked tight since Freddy announced his enlistement.

**One Week Later**

Henry Higgins, for whatever reason, found himself shivering at King's Cross, waiting for Eliza to say her fond farewells to her husband. Pickering, Henry's mother, and Freddy's flibbertigibbet of a sister, Clara were also in attendance. If Henry could arrange all the things he least wanted to waste his afternoon doing, he supposed that this would very well top the list, with catching a Gilbert and Sullivan opera being a close second.

_"Eliza needs a show of support. Do you have any idea how vulnerable she will be when the day comes?"_ Henry's mother had argued with him bitterly over his wish to not attend, and she painted - in broad strokes - a mental portrait of Eliza, prostrate with grief. The image did not bring the vindictive delight that it once had over Henry, for some reason.

Instead of the hysterical, grief-stricken female of Eleanor's prophecy, Henry was treated to a stoic, pale, and silent Eliza. She was a curious sight, rigid and impassive as a soldier, despite her small, dainty frame, and other feminine trappings. The torrential rain, and the chill of the morning did not seem to affect her, unlike her sister-in-law who clung tightly to Eliza from beneath the umbrella, wailing piteously into her shoulder. Curiously, Eliza would occasionally glance backwards, beyond Henry, his mother, and Pickering, as though searching for something or someone; when the mysterious search came up empty, she would furrow her brow and look back to Freddy, and come up with a bit of conversation that seemed more stalling than substantial.

The boarding call was given, and Pickering summoned the party to give Freddy his send off. Henry took the boys hand, and wished him some rather perfunctory well-wishes, Eleanor kissed both his cheeks, and Pickering gave him his most earnest wishes for the boy's health and well-being. After Freddy had managed to pry his sister away from him, transferring her to Eleanor's motherly arms, the party backed away, to allow husband and wife their own good-byes. Henry, feeling shamefully voyeuristic, did not look away as the others did.

Eliza spent a few moments, just looking up at Freddy, and stroking his cheek with a gloved hand. The pair were silently, drinking in each other's features for possibly the last time. Henry felt a pang, not of jealousy for once, but of one akin to sorrow. He was not made of marble after all, and anyone would be touched by the sight of the young couple, bravely saying farewell. The sorrow was fleeting however, as Freddy bent down to kiss Eliza most passionately for public display, and Henry was suddenly terribly uncomfortable, but still unable to look away, somehow.

"Henry - for shame!" Hissed his mother. Henry realised that she had caught him observing, and that hands were balled up into fists so tightly, that his nails were digging into the soft flesh of his palms. Thoroughly chastened, he looked away. His last image of the intimate scene was of Eliza, glancing wildly over her shoulder once more, her eyes now brimming with tears she was fighting hard not to shed. The whistle sounded loudly, and the engine fired up. Whatever she had been looking for, it had not come in time.

Eliza walked over to the small group, after the train began to depart. Henry noted that she still was not crying, and looked rather put out. She glared at Clara, who choked on a sob at the sight.

"Eliza-"

"You tell your mother..." Eliza trailed off, squeezed her eyes shut, and bit her lip, seemingly in an effort not to scream. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and revealed more focused, and less wild eyes to the party. "Forgive me."

Pickering walked up to her and offered her his arm, which she took. He patted the small hand that grasped at the crook of his shoulder. "Steady on, my dear." She nodded, and they went ahead of the party, towards the car that awaited to take Eliza to her new residence.


	5. Hello Again

A Better Man

Chapter Four

Hello Again

* * *

><p>"I've been bringin' trays up to that young thing for the last three days, and it's the strangest thing; she will not come out of her room, but I've heard nary a wail from her since she arrived!" Henry overheard two maids gossiping in the study as he made his way to breakfast, nothing on his mind but reading the paper and drinking coffee. It was astonishingly easy to not think of Eliza when she kept to her room so often; out of sight, out of mind, as they say.<p>

"Positively inhuman, I say. When my William went off to fight, my mother had to force spirits on me, just to calm me down!"

"I fainted dead away at the train station when Arthur left."

"Shameful; you would think ice water ran through her veins, instead of blood!" Henry paused, and thought about making his presence known to the silly pair. There were many adjectives he could use to describe Eliza; dispassionate was not among them. In fact, their catty gossip made Henry feel insulted for Eliza, and empathy was something he thought he could never have for the girl, or anyone for that matter. Still, this was not his house, and the servants were not his to kerb. However...

Henry cleared his throat loudly, catching the attention of the two young maids, who blushed furiously at being discovered. He granted the both of them the most disapproving and imperious stare that he could muster - it was a look that he usually reserved for the girl in question - before turning on his heel and stalking away in a manner that he admitted was a bit melodramatic. So what if Eliza wasn't keeping the house awake with her wails of injustice? One needn't tear at ones' hair and clothing, and throw themselves on a figurative funeral pyre to prove that their grief was genuine. The mere fact that Eliza would not come down to face the rest of the world proved that she was hurting. Pickering had even hired on a few girls to help run the flower shop while Eliza was indisposed, though where the man always seemed to find money to throw at her was beyond Henry.

"Mother, you ought to have Mrs. Lewis speak to those silly maids she has insisted on hiring. I'm afraid I caught them saying some very malicious things about Eliza."

Eleanor set down her section of the paper, and raised her eyebrows at her son - Colonel Pickering reaction was nearly identical from his side of the table. "Henry - you said malicious things about Mrs. Enysford-Hill not a fortnight ago, I wouldn't dare think you would care about such a thing."

"It isn't right; Eliza's not well, and they are talking as though she doesn't care a jot whether that boy lives or dies. Ridiculous women."

Eleanor smiled at her son thinly veiled outrage. "You are right, Henry - I will have Mrs. Lewis speak with them directly." She glanced up at the ceiling. "I do wish Eliza would come down, though. It may do her good to sit with all of us, and take her mind off of things."

"I mean no disrespect, Mrs. Higgins, but Freddy may not come back from this alive - I daresay that may be a hard thing to take one's mind off of," Colonel Pickering commented. The papers contained nothing but doom and gloom, and before Eleanor's remark, he had pushed his respective section of the paper aside, giving up on it altogether.

"It will not hurt to try, though, Colonel. It breaks my heart to see her so dispirited, and I feel so utterly helpless as to what I can do for her."

Pickering nodded. "So do I; but we must give her some time to be alone."

"Good morning." Three heads turned in unison to see Eliza standing near the entrance of the room. She appeared fresh, and well-coiffed, if not a little pale. Colonel Pickering stood up at once to come to her side and gallantly lead her to a seat at the table.

"Mrs. Eynsford-Hill, you look lovely this morning."

Eliza smiled at Pickering's compliment. "Please, Colonel, you must call me Eliza." She settled into her chair, and accepted a cup of coffee, blushing at the scrutinizing stares she was receiving. "Is everything alright?" She inquired.

"Of course, my dear, we are just happy to have you back with us," Eleanor replied.

"Thank you." Eliza stole a glance at her pocket watch. It had been a gift from Freddy, and was wrought with an elegant floral design to commemorate the opening of her flower shop. Eliza gasped at the time. "I am afraid I must leave; I have to get back to my shop. It's shameful the way I've neglected it!" She stood up, as did the rest of the party.

"Eliza, we've taken care of all of that; please sit down and let us have the pleasure of your company a little while longer," Eleanor pleaded. Eliza gave her a puzzled look, but obeyed.

"Taken care of? Am I not to mind my own place of business?"

Colonel Pickering cleared his throat nervously, and her eyes were instantly upon him, searching for answers. "You see, Eliza, the Hun have become rather bold as of late, and we thought it best for your safety if we had others look after things for you - people who do not live so very far from the shop, I mean."

Henry gauged Eliza's reaction. He had come to know every nuance of her expression, and he was certain that she would protest at the blatant act of mollycoddling. Indeed, her jaw tensed, her nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed, all for a brief moment; astonishingly, that moment passed, and she said nothing, only nodded.

"Freddy requested this?"

"I am afraid so, Eliza," Pickering confirmed.

"Very well."

Henry nearly smiled at Eliza's barely concealed indignation. He found he could read her like a book, and The Book of Eliza was turning into a quietly simmering tempest. How he admired her spirit. He wondered how long Eliza would be able to keep up this reluctant acceptance of her freedom being compromised thusly.

The temptation to pick her brain was far too great. "I say, Eliza - have you been keeping up on your reading?"

Eliza cocked her head to one side and looked to Henry with a confused half-smile. "I confess I have not."

"Well, if you would care to join me in the study after we are done with our coffee, I have several new books that may interest you."

"Oh?"

Henry frowned at Eliza's disbelieving expression. "Have I got something on my face?"

"Not at all, Professor."

Henry said nothing in reply, but finished his coffee, and stood up. "I will be in the library."

Eleanor chuckled, lovingly. "I think it is wonderful that you and my son seem to be setting aside your differences," she explained, once Henry was out of earshot. "I thought he would never forgive you for marrying young Frederick."

"I cannot imagine why he was so put-out by the match," Eliza retorted.

"Oh, you cannot?"

Eliza furrowed her brow. "I suppose Freddy was not who Henry would have chosen for his creation, given that he called me a 'consort battleship' at one point."

Eleanor shook her head. "Henry is a mystery to us all, my dear." Pickering nodded in agreement.

Eliza hesitantly joined Henry in the library, some time later. She left the door open for proprieties' sake, and crossed the room to a heavily upholstered wing-chair.

"I cannot say that I'm not a little bit shocked at your request, Professor."

Henry waved the statement off. "Don't let's quarrel anymore, Eliza, now that we're under one roof again."

Eliza nodded. "I should like us to be as friends again, Professor. It is wise to be friendly with one's jailers."

_There you go, my girl!_ Henry thought, a bit triumphantly. He felt validated that he had guessed at her frustration, and proud that she found it as stifling as he imagined it must be. Henry very much liked his Eliza with fire.

"Jailers? My goodness, Eliza, it's not as bad as all that!" He was baiting her, wanting to see more of her passion, because it was alot better than hearing about her wasting away silently behind closed doors.

"Oh? How easy for a man to say; you may come and go as you please," Eliza hissed, mindful of the open door, and curious servants.

"Come, Eliza, we are only concerned for your well-being."

Eliza rolled her eyes and snorted. "Has it ever occured to any of you that I lived alone from the age of thirteen up until you so graciously picked me off of the streets?"

"Yes, and that was before you had people be genuinely concerned as to whether you lived or died; now that people do, you are honor-bound to respect their wishes to not have you die in the gutter."

"Honor-bound to be a charity case?" Eliza stood up, and walked over to the shelves, where she mindlessly scanned the selections before her, without actually paying attention to the titles.

Henry stood beside her, picked out Rudyard Kipling's 'Kim', and handed it to her. She accepted the book, and flounced rather petulantly back into the chair, before opening it, and making a show of reading.

"Make a real effort to read the novel, don't just page through it angrily." Eliza rewarded his command with an icy glare. "You are not a charity case, Eliza; Pickering and mother regard you as family, and treat you as such out of loyalty, not pity."

"I wouldn't even dream of obeying their ridiculous edicts, if it weren't for Freddy."

There was an awkward pause at the mention of Freddy's name.

"He was right to make sure you are taken care of while he is away."

Eliza studied him. "Surely you would not set up such an elaborate prison for your wife?"

Henry gave a start, and sat down at the chair directly across from Eliza. "What a silly hypothetical."

"Would you?" Eliza pressed on.

Henry met Eliza's very direct gaze, and smiled sheepishly. "I suppose if I were stupid enough to fall in love, I would want to take every measure possible to make sure she were to be safe. I daresay it would be a hard thing, being out on the front lines with no idea how she fared... agonizing, even." His voice was as soft as it had been when he had imparted the importance of conquering the english language to Eliza all those years ago. Back then, Eliza had been quite struck dumb by the tenderness in his tone, and had briefly allowed herself to imagine that very voice, making love to her. The thought had cost her a full night of sleep, before she arose the next morning and decried the entire notion to be ridiculous, especially as he had immediately reverted to his acerbic, slightly high-pitched tones the very next day.

"Well, it's a good thing you are too old to serve, and too self-involved to fall in love," Eliza jabbed. Henry gasped in mock indignation, and soon the pair found themselves sharing a very rare laugh together. That is how Pickering and Eleanor found them, as they happened upon the library. The sight warmed both the older pair's hearts, as they were beginning to despair at Eliza ever laughing again, let alone with Henry.


	6. Duty Again

A Better Man

Chapter Five

Duty Again

* * *

><p><strong><span>Autumn 1915<span>**

Eliza sat across from Mrs. Higgins in the parlour, which had been packed to full capacity with various chairs, and women sitting in them. All of the women, Eliza included, were knitting. She found this to be a bit of a bore, and also very difficult, as she had never been formally coached in the intricacies of feminine hobbies. She very much doubted that Professor Higgins had even considered a course in sock and muffler making when he had been her tutor.

Another dropped stitch nearly made her throw the work across the room in a huff, but such a display would have surely shocked most of the ladies in the room into an early grave. Well, not so very early, Eliza had to be the youngest person in the room by at least four decades. Most of the women her own age were either working in the munitions factories, or training to be nurses; both professions her jailers deemed to dangerous for Eliza, especially when Pickering arrived home with stories of women dying of TNT exposure in the former.

Professor Higgins was often at the factory with Pickering, and Eliza often mused if it had more to do with the house being overrun by women, and less to do with die-hard patriotism, and a need to do what one must for one's country. Strangely, Eliza felt his absense keenly. They had been getting on well, for the most part, and his razor-tongued banter was preferable to being subjected to hours and hours of banal gossip, complaints about how modern young people were becoming, or even worse; speculation on the battle in Loos, where Freddy had been stationed.

Eliza's spirits soared when she spied Professor Higgins and Colonel Pickering walked past the open parlour door, and loudly cleared her throat in an effort to attract their attention.

"I thought I heard the click-clack of patriotism - good afternoon, ladies!" Pickering greeted in his usual, jovial way. Henry nodded at the gathering, and caught Eliza's wide-eyed, desperate stare. _Save me!_ Her look cried. He smiled, and turned to his mother.

"I say, Mother - Pickering and I would like to borrow Eliza for a while. It's a beautiful day out, and I believe a stroll is in order."

"Oh, Henry - can't you see she is quite occupied and having a fine time with us?"

Eliza shook her head almost imperceptibly, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"Her needlework is a disaster, Mother, I wouldn't give those socks to a Hun. She will be of much better use to Pick and I this afternoon - be reasonable." He nearly chuckled at Eliza's fleetingly insulted look at his dig at her needlework. It really was atrocious, and he doubted that she was even really trying anymore.

Eleanor scrutinised Eliza's work, seeing it for the first time. She tutted in disapproval. "Yes, I see what you mean; very well, Eliza you may go with my son and Colonel Pickering, if that is what you want to do. If you like, I will go over the fundamentals of knitting with you another time."

"Ha! Well, that's not bloody likely, is it?" A collective gasp filled the room, and Eliza exchanged an mischevious smirk with Henry. She did not know why she said it; perhaps just to show that she still could - just because she had to sit in their cage for Freddy's sake did not mean she had to sing sweetly.

With that, Eliza was escorted out into the autumn air, with Professor Higgins on one side of her, and Colonel Pickering on the other. It was a scenario that was very comfortable to Eliza, and for a moment, she forgot about the troubles that constantly plagued her every waking moment, and was transported back to a simpler time in her life. The feeling lasted mere moments, before the conversation turned to the inevitable.

"They say Kipling's son is missing," Professor Higgins commented, as the trio passed a newstand. Eliza sighed. She had devoured the man's work after being introduced to it over the past summer. She admired him, and like everyone suffering the numerous losses on each front, felt a pang for the agony he must be going through. Kipling's son was only a boy, and according to Professor Higgins and Colonel Pickering, a boy with eyesight far too terrible for service.

"The man ought not to have pulled strings for such a foolish endeavour," Pickering replied, referring to Kipling's sway contributing to his son being accepted for military service. Eliza found the comment to be uncharacteristically ungenerous, coming from Colonel Pickering, and gently told him as much. Pickering merely patted her hand, and apologised for his frankness.

Eliza was eternally grateful that her husband remained faithful with his correspondence, and was apparently safe. His letters were becoming more and more brief, though, a fact that disturbed her greatly. It seemed to her that Freddy absolutely refused to let any unpleasantness seep into his letters, but was finding it increasingly more difficult to find anything that was not unpleasant to report. She tried to ignore the unsaid words, and focus on the ones that appeared on the page like 'uninjured' and 'safe'. Her mind carressed these welcome, lovely words, and stored them away in her heart, bringing them up to her mind when the news of others not as fortunate were constantly discussed.

"I wish they would grant Freddy leave," Eliza said, suddenly. She thought she felt the muscles in Professor Higgins' arm tense briefly at her wish, but ignored it.

"Perhaps very soon, my dear - you miss him terribly, I am sure."

Eliza nodded mechanically at Colonel Pickering. The truth was, while she fretted and worried about Freddy's well-being constantly, she did not yearn for him in the sense that a wife does for a husband during an extended seperation. It was the strangest thing, for she knew she would be thrilled if he were to come home, and yet she found herself able to cope ever so easily without his devotion, and love.

"So, what do you think Mother will allow you to do now that she's discovered you are an utter domestic disaster?" Henry teased, desperate to take the subject away from Eliza's aching need for her husband.

Eliza smiled, and pondered. "Oh, I suppose I will be collecting silk gowns and stockings to send to the front, as I am sure you old maids would be too scandalised to do it for her - provided I am allowed to venture out of doors with any regularity."

"I am my mother's son, Eliza; I doubt she will let you give up on your knitting endeavours all that easily."

Eliza let out a dramatic sigh. "It is all terribly dull. I would much rather be binding up wounds, and being really useful, like Clara." Clara Eynsford-Hill was currently working in various hospitals as a VAD nurse, and loving every 'thrilling' minute of it. She regaled Eliza with hours of details of her duties, positively glowing with a newfound sense of purpose. Eliza envied her greatly. In a way, she was beginning to understand how Freddy felt when she had initially refused to allow him to serve his country.

"I, for one, cannot see any harm in it," Pickering admitted. Eliza and Professor Higgins gave their friend an astonished look. "Provided, of course, that your husband approves." Eliza's face fell into a disappointed expression, before she narrowed her eyes defiantly.

"I do not think Freddy really wants me to ignore the needs of my countrymen, and all the women my age are doing the very same thing."

"Surely not all of them," retorted Professor Higgins.

Eliza glared at him. "A great deal of them are - yes- and some of a much higher station than me!"

The two men both knew that Eliza had a point. Some VAD girls were even members of the aristocracy, although what use they could possibly be was beyond Pickering and Henry. For all Eliza's fine speech, and increasingly well-rounded education, she still had years of hardening experience and street smarts. She appeared delicate and everything an English Rose should be, but in reality she had literally spent night sleeping on the street, and had been involved in various physical altercations throughout her life, having held her own very admirably in some of them. Pickering was on the verge of relenting, but something stopped Henry from validating her outright - a nagging fear of losing her.

Rather than concede to her point, Pickering awkwardly transitioned the conversation to weather. Rather chilly, and all that. Eliza felt her tower of resentment at the situation begin to teeter a bit precariously towards outright hostility that day, but held it in. She was a guest in Mrs. Higgins' home, after all, and it behooved her to obey the rules set out before her. Still, the thought of disappearing into the night and donning a white cap was deliciously irresistable. It did not help that Clara - emboldened by her own flight from her mothers' home - encouraged her to do that very thing everytime she happened to visit.

"I cannot believe that you left your mother." Eliza had commented breathlessly, on Clara's visit immediately after the incident.

"Oh, can't you? Especially after that dreadful business with Freddy! I do not think that I will speak to that nasty woman ever again, as long as I live!" Clara had exclaimed, wringing her own white cap between her hands. "I'm rooming with a few girls that work at the hospitals with me, and it is delightfully liberating."

"Freddy would not like it."

"Oh, he can be such an old woman about that sort of thing! He ought to let you be useful, just as you relented about him serving."

"He is just being sweetly concerned."

"And isn't it such a bother? You poor, sheltered darling!"

A few more visits went on in a similiar fashion, before Eliza was positively galvanised into action. She snuck out to 27 St. John's Lane, under the pretense of collecting silk for the front, and trained clandestinely. The day she returned to the Higgins' household in full uniform, Eleanor had nearly fainted from shock. Pickering took the news silently, unwilling to cause any sort of unpleasantness, and Henry gave her the understanding look of co-conspirator. It was he, who had finally relented, and had aided Eliza in her deception, escorting her to and from her training area.

_I would have never thought that the person who had freed me from the bonds of ignorance, would trap me with words given to a man he despised_, Eliza had pointed out, during a particularly heated discussion over her lack of involvement in the cause. She knew that although Henry tried to like Freddy - the boy was fighting for the country and all that - he simply could not bring himself to it, and that while her words may have been a bit blunt, they were very true. Henry would not - could not- confess to her, or himself, the real reason he had gone along with the sheltering and coddling of Eliza.

So it went, Eliza worked alongside her sister-in-law, and her invitation to Eleanor's home had not been rescinded because of it.

It was nearing Christmas when Eliza discovered that Freddy was coming home on leave.


	7. Scars

A Better Man

Chapter Seven

Scars

Author's Note: Okay folks, this chapter is most definitely not for the kiddies. The ending of it probably merits an M rating, but I will call it a hard T. This chapter contains a not-so-flattering portrayal of severe PTSD, descriptions of wounds, and an act of violence against a female. If this sort of thing is not something you want to read about in a My Fair Lady fanfiction, you ought to turn away now. I would also just like to add that my beta made a Grey's Anatomy reference to me while proof-reading this, and I had to admit that I was one of those rare, weird girls that have never watching an episode before (what, what?).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and that you don't hate me too much once it is all over.

* * *

><p><em>21 December 1915<em>

_Dear Mrs. Pryce,_

_Your son has been granted leave, and I would be more than happy to have you attending his Welcoming Home party on Christmas Eve. I realize that with your new status, you will probably be quite busy with other parties; however, your son is not granted leave every day, and he will not be staying long. I am sure an appearance from you would send him back into battle with a renewed sense of purpose. _

_I am willing to ignore your previous snub if you would only make an appearance. We do not even have to engage in conversation._

_Sincerely,_

_Eliza Eynsford-Hill_

Once in a while, Henry found himself making believe he and Eliza were still together at his home on Wimpole street, three years prior. After all, they were both under the same roof, taking their meals at the same time, and even exchanging pleasantries. He and Eliza would take turns reading the paper, and she did not complain of the smell coming from the pipe he smoked more often than was necessary. Sometimes, they would exchange glances that contained entire conversations, a feat most commonly found in people who spent copious amounts of time in each other's company. They knew how the other took their tea, and each other's opinion on all manner of things down to how well Eleanor's new hearth rug looked in contrast to the rest of the parlour.

It was all too easy to get lost in the illusion of their day-to-day life, all too easy to forget that she had a husband that was bound to come home and end it all. When Freddy returned, Eliza would sit next to him and laugh at his jokes, tolerate his pipe smoking - if he had taken up the habit - and share his paper and his thoughts. It was as if Henry only had her on loan, like a library book. Soon, if the war ended, Eliza would go back to being Mrs. Freddy Eynsford-Hill, and her frosty acquaintance with her old phonetics professor would resume.

He was old, and a fool. The boy was a fool as well, but a young and damned good-looking one. More importantly, he was Eliza's husband, and entitled to demand Eliza's every attention.

Unwilling to let his thoughts go any further down _that _path, Henry turned his attention to the activity in the dining room. Eliza and his mother were hanging decorations for both Christmas, and Freddy's return. Both ladies had been dressing a bit more simply as of late, especially Eliza who had little time to bother with elegance and glamour in between dressing wounds, and soothing mental anguish. However, both ladies looked very well, indeed, despite all of that - merriment, and purpose brought an elegance and grace to their bearing that their plainer garb could not.

"Professor!" Eliza cried from her perch atop a ladder, she grinned at him, and he found himself quite charmed by the sprig of holly that clung to an errant curl, unnoticed by her or his mother.

"You look positively frightful; what a ragamuffin! Good afternoon, Mother." He crossed over to them, and assisted Eliza down from the ladder. Her footing faltered near the third to last rung, and she fell forward, straight into his arms. He nearly fell backwards from the shock of it, and ended up holding her tightly for several moments more than was probably necessary. They parted awkwardly, with Eliza soothing her rumpled locks, and refusing to make eye contact.

"Henry, won't you assist us in decorating? I don't like Eliza climbing on top of ladders as though she was some sort of wild thing, when she could very well fall and break her neck. Freddy would never forgive me if I let that happen!"

"Oh, I suppose; but what happens if I were to fall and break my neck?"

"I would be very sad, I daresay, but it's not as though you were very invested in carrying on the Higgins name." Eleanor's words stung Henry, but it was unintentional, as their banter often had a barbed, but loving edge to it.

Henry proceeded to climb up the ladder, and Eliza politely handed him a length of garland, and the tools for fastening it to the edges of the shelves. He had barely begun the process before Eliza cleared her throat loudly. He looked down at her, and she was shaking her head.

"I'm afraid it is no good - have you even done something like this before, Professor?"

"Pardon?"

"It is going to be crooked already - a bit more to the right, if you please?" She was grinning maliciously as she said this. He felt a stab of irritation at her pleasure, knowing full well how delighted she was at the opportunity to lord over him, but he obeyed her all the same.

"I do not think it looks right - what say you, Mrs. Higgins?" Eliza asked, after Henry had managed to cover nearly the whole room's circumference. Mrs. Higgins said nothing. It was clear that Eliza was teasing her son.

"Come now, Professor, this needs to look perfect for Christmas. Where is your spirit?" Eliza inquired, plucking the sprig of holly from her hair, and offering it up to him in a show of generosity. With a melodramatic huff, he pulled down the various yards of fabric and fir in one yank, and threw it down on the floor.

"That was hardly called for, Henry!" Eleanor chided. She gasped when Eliza grabbed a handful of loose tinsel, and attempted to toss it up at Henry, like one would a snowball. A look appeared upon her son that she had not seen since he had been a small boy, and with a cry, he jumped down from the ladder, and gave chase.

"Really - you two!" Eleanor found herself ignored in the midst of their merriment, and decided to flee the scene before the sight of anymore upset decorations put her in a state. "Just take care not to break anything valuable!" She scolded, sure that neither had heard her.

By the end of it, both Henry and Eliza was gasping for air, and positively glittering from the various pieces of tinsel on their person. Eliza could not speak for laughing, her shoulders shaking with merriment, and shedding aluminum paper like a bird does its' feathers.

"You silly thing, now it looks like Father Christmas exploded in here."

Yes, sometimes it was all too easy for Henry to forget.

Eliza decided to retrieve Freddy from the train station alone, with the rest of the household - including Clara- waiting to spring up and surprise the young man in the dining room. The feast was as grand as it could be, and the decorations quite charming. A good-natured boy like Freddy would not be able to help but be touched.

Eliza sat nervously on a bench near the platform where Freddy's train was due to arrive. She had vehemently brushed off Colonel Pickering's offer to accompany her that day, even when he warned her that she may not be prepared for the Freddy she was about to greet. Rubbish.

The train pulled up as scheduled, and Eliza stood up, craning her neck to spy her husband in his car. After a bit, people began to exit the train, and pair off to their respective families. After what felt like an agonising wait, Freddy appeared from afar. Eliza smiled. He looked so dashing in his khaki. Impulsively, she ran to him, and threw herself into his waiting arms.

"Darling," he rasped in an alarmingly soft and damaged tone. Eliza pulled away, and scrutinised his appearance. He was clean-shaven, and his uniform freshly pressed, as he had appeared at a distance, but Eliza began to notice things.

"Your face - does it hurt?" Eliza asked, running a gentle hand over the angry, raised skin of his cheekbones, and nose. It had not been terribly noticeable until one got up close. Freddy responded by taking her exploring hand into his own, and bringing it to his lips, kissing each finger fervently. Tears ran down his face.

"Nothing hurts anymore, my darling." Eliza felt her eyes burning with tears when she noted that his lovely, sensitive hands were also marred by the strange rash, and quite a bit worse than his face... and his voice - was he completely unable to speak above a whisper?

"Freddy-"

"Just take me home, Eliza. Please."

Eliza led Freddy to the car, feeling for all the world like the oxygen had been sucked out of existence. Neither of them spoke on the way home, and Eliza wondered if he would ever lose the tension in his bearing, or the skittish look in his eyes.

When they arrived, Mr. Swithin greeted Freddy uncharacteristically heartily, and Freddy could only nod, bewildered. As they walked down the corridor, towards the dining room, Eliza was struck with the thought that the party may have been a dreadful mistake.

Her fears were confirmed when they walked into the darkened room, and Freddy caught her hand in a nearly bone-crushing grip. When the lights went up, and the thunderous cry of 'Suprise!' was uttered, Freddy backed away so suddenly that he nearly tripped over Eliza's feet, yanking her arm with some degree of force.

The entire party stood stunned at his reaction, and for a very long time, no one dared utter a sound. Freddy seemed to compose himself, and miraculously, he managed a smile. "Thank you, all," was his barely audible reply, which appeared to break the spell. The room broke out into nervous strains of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow', as Eliza led her husband to the head of the table, his seat of honor. She hoped against hope that she would not fall to pieces in front of everyone, and tried to leave his side to take her own seat at the table. Freddy took her hand once more and shook his head. His expression cried _Don't leave me!, _and Eliza -while one hand was still encased in his own- pulled a chair as close to him as possible, and sat down.

Henry watched all of his from a distance, trying desperately to connect this strange young man with the ridiculous little fool he had known previously. He found himself feeling very sorry indeed, despite everything. This was a boy who had crawled through hellfire on his hands and knees, and somehow managed to come out alive. He looked to Pickering, who was having a very hard time even sparing the boy a glance, his expression strained and heavy with concern.

It seemed that Eliza would not be permitted to leave her husbands' side at all, from the way the boy clung wordlessly to her. Henry, for the life of him, could not begrudge Freddy that right, not now that he was seeing him face-to-face. No, this spectre of a human-being ought not be denied anything. What pained Henry the most was Eliza's expression. She had been merry, and lively before she had left to house to retrieve her husband, and now she was barely holding on to her self-control. Bitter disappointment, fear, and sorrow were worn plain on her face, even though her voice remained gracious, and light.

Henry remained in the shadows for most of the party, observing the pair. They appeared to be victims of a shipwreck, cleaving helplessly to one another amongst the devastation. Mercifully, Eliza excused the both of them from the party early, claiming that Freddy and she were both too exhausted to continue entertaining. Henry watched the two make their retreat, relieved that the reason for the tense atmosphere was leaving, and then somehow angry at the thought of the two of them sharing a bed that night.

Freddy and Eliza made love that night, although Eliza would later ponder the events, and decide that 'making love' was not an apt description of what actually occured. Freddy was detached, and nearly violent in his overtures, not conducting himself at all in the sweet leisurely way that was his signature. Eliza emerged from it, lips bruised from kisses, neck and chest spotted with red love bites, and considerably more sore than she had ever been in her life. Freddy had exhausted himself in his frenzy, and fell asleep promptly after, pinning her down with his weight, rendering her quite unable to move.

Later in the night, Freddy rolled away from Eliza, to his own side of the bed, allowing her to breath freely. She was quite unable to find rest, mind racing at the speed of lightening, as usual.

Freddy began to twitch and whimper somewhere around three in the morning. Eliza had nearly managed to fall asleep when it began. She was unable to ignore the cries, as they became more pitiful, and desperate.

"Freddy?" She began to wrap her arms about him, in order to pet and calm him, but as soon as her hands touched his shoulders, he cried as loudly as his damaged voice would permit, and in a flash, was straddling Eliza, his hands tightly wound about her throat.

A million thoughts flew through Eliza's head at once as she struggled beneath his vice-like grip. She kicked uselessly, and gasped out strangled cries, but Freddy appeared merciless to her cries. Spots began to dance before her vision, and Freddy's twisted, angry features began to blur. She managed to lift her arms, and push her hands against his face, vainly attempting to push him away. The touch of her hands against his face must have been able to bring him to his senses, for he pulled his own hands from her neck as though scalded. Oxygen hit Eliza's lungs with a vengeance, and she coughed and gasped so hard that her ribs began to ache from the exertion.

"Darling... Oh, god, what have I done?" Eliza struggled to find her voice, to reassure Freddy that all was well, even though it clearly wasn't.

"Fr-Freddy-"

"The dream... it wasn't you there, it was-" Freddy began to sob, shamefully, unable to look at his wife.

"Freddy, please-"

He jumped out of bed, to his feet, quite suddenly.

"I cannot stay here!" In a frenzy he began to gather his things. Eliza, still weak from being strangled to near-unconsciousness could only shake her head and plead softly, while trying to quell the violent tremors that tore through her being.

"Freddy you do not have to leave."

He was deaf to her. Deaf, blind, and walking out of her life.


	8. Running

A Better Man

Chapter Seven

Running

* * *

><p>Eliza's heart pounded savagely, and she could feel the blood thrumming through her veins as she lay in the bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Every breath she took felt like a knife to her constricted throat, and her trembling had yet to abate.<p>

Freddy, she had to find Freddy. He could not have gotten far, she rationalized, and if she showed him that all she wanted to do was understand, maybe he would stop running. Eliza willed herself to stand, catching hold of the bedpost when her knees gave out. With momumental effort, she was able to keep her balance, and dress hurriedly. There was no time to lose, so she simply threw a dressing-gown over her night-dress, stepped into her slippers, and headed into the corridor.

"Eliza?" Colonel Pickering stood in front of her door, concern darkening his kindly features. He had been dozing off in his own room, when he heard the quick, frantic footsteps in the corridor. When he set out quietly to investigate, Pickering caught Freddy fleeing like the hounds of Hell were at his heels. Something wild and lost in the boy's eyes had caused Pickering to suddenly become very afraid, and he had abandoned all thoughts of propriety in order to check up on Eliza.

"Please, Colonel - I need to find Freddy!" She winced in agony at the effort it took to form words. She could not raise her voice above a whisper without it hurting. Eliza noticed Pickering's expression go from concern to barely contained anger when he heard her speak, his eyes narrowing on her throat. She raised her eyes to the looking-glass on the wall beyond Pickering's shoulder, and gasped at the sight that she beheld. Freddy had most definitely left his mark, with no question as to what he had done.

"I will take a horse-whip to him."

Eliza gasped at the uncharacteristic venom in her old friend's tone, and could not bring herself to look at the deadly gleam in his usually merry blue eyes.

"It is not what you think, Colonel."

"Go to bed, Eliza, I will find the blackguard."

Eliza shook her head. "No - you don't understand! Now, please, let me go before it's too late." Tears formed in her eyes, and she was desperately, and shamefully close to shoving the man out of her path. She closed her eyes, and gave a defeated, shuddering sigh before succumbing to those tears, and sobbing quietly.

"Go to bed," Pickering repeated as firmly as a man confronted with a young woman's crying could sound, which wasn't very.

"H-he was dreaming, he said. I-it wasn't me he saw... oh, please - you must let me go to him. I have to tell him that I don't hate him!"

Pickering's anger evaporated almost instantly. "He was asleep when this happened?"

Eliza nodded. "I t-tried to wake him from a n-nightmare, and he-" She could not explain it again, it was too painful.

"I will find him."

Her eyes met his finally, wide and apprehensive. "You must not hurt him."

Pickering placed his hands on Eliza's shoulders, in a gentle and reassuring gesture. "I will bring him home to you, Eliza, I promise. No harm will come to your husband tonight - but I need you to return to your room, and let me do this alone." With that, he released her, and turned his eyes to her bedroom door with a look that was unmistakably a command. Eliza, still apprehensive, but trusting of her friend, obeyed.

Morning came with Eliza rising from bed without actually having slept in it. She walked to the looking-glass, and numbly noted that the fair, delicate skin of her neck had begun to bruise. She thanked providence for high necklines, and went about her morning routine. No one need know about the events of the night before - in fact, she was very sure that she could rely on Colonel Pickering's discretion in the matter. She shuddered to think of how Professor Higgins would react, and poor Mrs. Higgins would undoubtedly go into shock if she knew that Eliza had nearly been killed in bed by her husband.

It was Christmas morning. Eliza had nearly forgotten about the holiday since last night. She walked into the dining room to find Professor Higgins and his mother waiting patiently for their guests. Eliza colored deeply - she would have to make excuses for the absence of her husband... not to mention that Pickering was also missing.

"I am afraid that Freddy will be unable to attend breakfast with us this morning," she announced, trying hard to keep the grave tone out of her voice.

"How odd - do you know that the Colonel left a note saying the same thing in regards to himself? Seems he was called away on some very urgent business at one of the hospitals." Eleanor shook her head sadly. "I am afraid we make for a very sorry Christmas breakfast indeed."

Eliza took a seat, making sure she was as far from Professor Higgins as possible. Some of the bruising reached just below her jawline, barely visible to the critical eye. She would not take her chances.

Henry noticed something off about Eliza. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and dark circles had appeared beneath them; her bearing was stiff, nearly rhuematic, and her complexion stood in stark contrast to her dark, owlish eyes. He also noticed that when she was being addressed, Eliza would only turn her head a fraction, and the corners of her eyes would crinkle in a barely supressed wince.

A cold realization washed over Henry when he added the fact that her husband was not present.

"Where is he?" Eleanor chided her son for his icy and impertinent tone, but Henry waved her off, and repeated the inquiry.

"I already told you -"

"I have a feeling that there is much you are not telling me, Eliza. Where. Is. He?"

Eliza stood up, her features stark with desperation. "I cannot comprehend why you would want to know!"

Henry fairly leapt to his feet, and strode over to Eliza, intent on drinking in her every feature, in order to seek out the evidence he needed. Her hands automatically flew to her neck, covering it protectively, but not before Henry noticed the ghost of a fingerprint just below her left ear - it stood angry, purple, and in mocking parody of a loving touch.

"Henry, what on earth -"

"Hush, Mother - Eliza, tell me."

He was rewarded with a slow shake of her head. "No. I cannot make you understand."

The sound of the front door opening caused everyone in the room to divert their attention. Without warning, Henry dashed from the dining room, bent on greeting whoever came through the door. Eliza stood dumbstruck for a moment before realizing his intent; she ran after him.

She arrived in time to see the Colonel step between her husband and Professor Higgins, holding his hands up in a halting gesture.

"Higgins, I will not have you harm the boy, whatever you believe has transpired."

"'What I believe'? Pickering, I saw with my own eyes!" Henry stepped forward, as did Pickering, who placed his hands on his friend's shoulders, firmly.

"I will explain everything in the study, and then you may judge." With surprising strength, Pickering was able to steer Henry away from Eliza and Freddy, although he was not able to prevent the professor from locking eyes with the younger man in an icy glare that he held until distance broke it.

Eliza was alone with Freddy at last. Her husband stood there, staring at her with his smoke-colored eyes, watery with unshed tears, and a helpless expression on his face. Eliza opened her arms, and he came forward, falling to his knees, and pressing his face against her abdomen, crying in earnest. The feel of his arms about her were not constricting as they had been when he first arrived, but gentle and cautious, as though she were made of fine glass. She stroked his dark hair, and murmured endearments, heedless of the few servants that were undoubtedly spellbound by the display.

"I love you, Freddy... please do not run from me like that again." At the moment, Eliza meant those three important words. The possibility of him going back to war and dying with that incident being the last memory of him had shown her that.

Back in the study, Henry was being made to sit down, when what he really wanted to do was tear a certain young whelp, limb from limb. The whole situation disturbed and angered him, especially with the niggling reminder that he had once threatened to do the very same thing to Eliza. It was different, though. He never would have layed a finger on that girl, especially now that their friendship was so very important to him... why the devil was Pickering so ready to defend the boy?

"Higgins, the boy was not in his right mind when he hurt Eliza."

"Drunk, I suppose?"

Pickering shook his head, and took a seat. "Have you ever had a particularly stressful lecture or project to worry about? The Embassy Ball, for instance - you spent months worrying yourself over that, I know you did."

Henry nodded, hesistantly.

"Did you ever dream about it? Dream that everything had gone wrong to the point where you woke up in the midst of thrashing about from anxiety, marvelling at how real the whole scenario had been?"

Another nod.

"What if what you saw on a day-to-day basis was death, filth, and your duty was to partake in that in the name of King and country?"

The rest of Christmas day was painstakingly tense. Henry, while accepting Pickering's explanation, still could not bring himself to be so forgiving of the boy, and refused to look at, or speak to him. Eleanor had been gently informed of the situation in order for her to arrange another room to be made up for Freddy. No one was willing to risk another incident like the night before.

The gift exchange was carried out perfunctorily. Had the occasion been more merry, Henry would have been very grateful for the new fountain pen from Eliza, and she may have embarassed him with the warmth of her gratitude over the rare edition of 'The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam'. Instead, they thanked each other without any real enthusiasm. Freddy managed to kiss Eliza on the cheek when he received his new shaving kit, pulling away immediately when he thought he caught the professor's disapproving glare. Eliza thought that Freddy's gift of handkerchiefs were very sweet, and smiled weakly at the boy.

Freddy left the Higgins' household on the second of January, 1916. Eliza saw him to the station, accompanied by Colonel Pickering. The young couple parted with a great deal more tears than the last time, Eliza now burdened with the realization of her love, and Freddy struck with guilt, and the feeling that he did not deserve her renewed regard.


	9. Tidings

A Better Man

Chapter Eight

Tidings

Author's note: Well, as you can see, I've had ALOT of time on my hands.

* * *

><p>"Hill!"<p>

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Go find your sister-in-law and inform her of the fact that bedpans do not clean themselves."

Eliza emerged from the water closet, weak with fatigue and the bout of nausea that had just overtaken her. She was immediately spotted by Clara, who waved her down with a frantic look upon her face.

"There you are! The matron just singed my ears, she was so keen to find you... Oh, my dear, are you alright?" Clara linked arms with her sister-in-law, and they headed towards the infirmary

Eliza nodded, fanning herself off with her hand. "I'm fine, Clara, and I overheard what she said; I will get to it."

"Darling, you are absolutely green!" Clara pulled Eliza to an empty bed, urged the girl to sit down, taking a seat beside her when she did.

"If the matron were to see-"

"Oh, hang that old battle-ax!" A chuckle from the neighboring bed brought the girls' attention to a heavily bandaged young man, eyes twinkling with mirth from Clara's unladylike exclamation. She turned her nose up at him, sniffed imperiously, and pulled the curtain in order to shield his view. "I think you had better go home for the day, Eliza."

"It will pass, just as it always does."

Clara eyed her sister-in-law suspiciously. "How long has this been going on?"

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but the curtain was pulled aside, and the matron stared down at the pair, a heavy eyebrow raised, and nostrils flaring ever so slightly.

"Girls, what is the meaning of this?"

Both women stood up immediately, ramrod straight in the presence of their superior. It was Eliza who spoke up first.

"It is my fault, ma'am. I had a bad turn, and needed to collect myself."

"I made her rest, ma'am," Clara added.

The matron focused her critical eyes on Eliza for a very long moment. Suddenly, the older woman's features softened. "Hill, I want you to go see Dr. Hardwicke immediately."

"But, ma'am-"

"I am not in the mood for objections. Your sister-in-law can take over your duties for the rest of the afternoon." With that, the matron took her leave.

Clara glowered at Eliza for a moment, but then smiled beatifically, and kissed her sister-in-law's cheek. "You heard Madame General, off you go."

Much later, Eliza walked into the bitter February air, unable to help herself from grinning. Oh, the doctor's news was quite a shock, without a doubt - not to mention that fact that she had not even considered being in such a state until Freddy was safe at home, and the flower shop had resumed making a profit, but still...

Freddy would be so pleased. It was possible that the news would even boost his morale considerably. The frost in the air threatened to sink it's teeth into the very tip of her nose, but Eliza did not feel a thing.

It astonished Eliza, that she had not noticed the changes in her body up until now. Of course, her life had gotten quite hectic with the hospital - so much so that she was rarely at home. That would all change immediately. Doctor Hardwicke had made sure that she was to be discharged from her duties at the hospital, claiming that the strain and the sights would be far too much for a women in her condition. Eliza had initially balked, until he gravely informed her of the difficulty that lay ahead. The first time was always the most difficult, he had told her, and the fact that her frame was naturally very small would multiply the danger. However, he assured her that one as young and healthy as herself would most likely recover in no time.

Eliza climbed the icy steps in front of Mrs. Higgins home, imagining everyone's surprise at the news. Ordinarily Colonel Pickering or Professor Higgins arrived at the hospital to escort her home, but they were not expecting to make the journey for hours, and were still at the munitions factory.

Eliza found Mrs. Higgins in the parlour, reading a battered old romance. Eliza smirked at the sight. Eleanor often tried to hide her habit of reading those types of books from her son, knowing that he would deride the whole genre with a sneer.

"Eliza, you are home early!" Eleanor declared, setting her book down and standing up to embrace the young woman. She took a step back, and smiled. "My dear, you are positively bursting with good news - is it about Freddy?"

Eliza waited until they were both seated to reply with, "Yes, in a manner of speaking."

Eleanor gave the young woman a look of polite impatience.

"I am with child."

Eleanor sat back, mouth agape, and eyes wide. "My dear-"

"Oh, I know the timing is not right, and-"

"But this is wonderful news."

Eliza nodded, grinning. "Yes, I think so."

"Well, now you really shall have to improve your needlework."

The pair chatted excitedly until Colonel Pickering and Professor Higgins arrived. Henry observed the beaming expressions of the pair, and was quite astounded. Both had been rather down as of late, with the shortages, Eliza's long hours, and the events of Christmas hanging over everyone like a pall. Where had this renewed show of merriment come from?

Eliza immediately took note of the questions in both men's eyes, and repeated her news. Colonel Pickering gave a jubilant exclamation, and immediately brought up Harrow and Cambridge, declaring his intent to finance the child's education.

"Are you quite well, my dear? Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?" Pickering fussed like an old hen, or an old, sweet man with no idea how one ought to treat a woman in a delicate situation.

Quite overcome by Colonel Pickering, and Mrs. Higgins' attention, Eliza had quite forgotten about Professor Higgins.

Henry could only stare dumbly at Eliza after her news. Her words _I am with child_ echoed like a mantra in his mind, and he dimly realized that his hands were shaking ever so slightly. _I am with child, I am with child, with child, child. _Good lord, she was going to have a baby. Freddy's baby. The news went straight to his gut, and then travelled upwards, twisting at his heart, and then catching in his throat, rendering him incapable of speech and making the simple act of breathing an impossibility.

Henry's education in biology had been brief, but he still knew quite well when that child had been conceived - it had been that awful night when the boy had - well, everyone had been struggling to put that incident behind them, but here was a constant reminder. A baby born out of an ugly situation, where it would undoubtedly be put into the arms of a broken, and lost man, barely out of boyhood himself. Eliza had lain with that man. Of course, Henry knew that such things happened in a marriage, but the proof that it had occured within Eliza's marriage...

It was intolerable. Henry did not want to sit and listen to Eliza moon and dream over her future with Freddy Eynsford-Hill and their spawn, not when his heart was hammering with such violence that he was sure it would break his chest. So he left the room, pursued by images of a small, beautiful child with chocolate brown curls and smoky-grey eyes. Images of a life quite devoid of Eliza. She was going to be a mother.

He had lost her irrevocably.

Eliza wrote to Freddy that night, kissing the missive before sending it off. _We are to be parents_, was all it said.

When Freddy received the message, he held it to his heart, and nearly allowed the tears to flow as he lie in bed. One of his fellow officers, a married young man named Brocklehurst, took note of his highly emotional state, and pulled the letter from his hands.

"Well done, Hill!" The boy exclaimed, clapping Freddy on the shoulder. Brocklehurst let out a shrill whistle, gaining the attention of the rest of the outfit, some of whom had been dozing off. "Hill is going to be a father!"

That night, Freddy's superiors turned a blind eye to the merriment that ensued. News from home was rarely happy for anyone, and the announcement was cause for celebration. After all, this was going to be his first child - a milestone in any young man's life. There was no reason to ignore tradition just because there was a war on.

Freddy woke the next day with a pounding head, bleary eyes, a vague recollection of the night's revels, and a remarkably light heart.


	10. Morass

A Better Man

Chapter Nine

Morass

* * *

><p>Being pregnant in the summer was torture, plain and simple. Eliza lay on her bed, with a cold cloth pressed against her forehead, willing the afternoon to disappear into the horizon and bring on a cool night. Trays had been brought up to her room for the past few days, as the heat made her far too ill to venture very far, or allow her to be fully dressed.<p>

Her thoughts were very often her only companions during those lonely days. Eleanor would come and sit with her for a while, but the woman had many obligations, and Eliza did not like to take up much of her time. The professor and Colonel Pickering were naturally not allowed in her room, especially in her condition and state of undress - not that Professor Higgins would be much company anyway.

Eliza had begun to think that he really and truly hated her. After the announcement of her pregnancy, he had changed. There were no more literary discussions in the library, as found seemingly endless excuses not to be at home. He was now so frosty and acerbic that Eliza frequently found herself in tears when he actually did address her. Of course, it seemed her emotions were higher and higher every single day - for example, just the other day she had ventured a look out of her bedroom window, and the sight of a fallen bird on the sill had sent her into a fit of hysterics - still, she was not imagining his coldness.

He would not look at her. Eliza could not remember the last time she had been able to make direct eye contact with Professor Higgins, although she sometimes thought she could feel his gaze upon her in moments when she supposed he thought her unawares. What had she done? Was it the fact that she had forgiven Freddy for the incident at Christmas? She would remember the look on Henry's face when he spied her injuries until her dying day. It was if they had shared an invisible, and tenuous connection that made her pain his pain and vice versa. This was no longer the case. The invisible cord had been snapped in two, and now they were practically strangers living under the same roof.

Miraculously, Eliza felt well enough by the early evening to dress herself and head downstairs. It seemed that the heat was on its way to breaking, as the early night air was cool, and breezy. The house was quiet, and empty - Eliza surmised that everyone had either retired for the evening, or had gone out of doors.

She was wrong.

Eliza found Professor Higgins in the library, so engrossed in his reading that he did not even notice her arrival. She cleared her throat, giving him a start that nearly made him drop his book. He raised his eyes to the intruder, only to immediately look away when he recognized who it was.

"Why do you do that?" Eliza inquired softly.

"What on earth do you speak of, you ridiculous creature?" His eyes were firmly glued to the page. Eliza approached him, hell-bent on getting the answers she required.

"All of this. Why can you not even look at me anymore? Why the sudden derision?" She came up behind his chair, and placed her hands on the back of it, looking down at him. Henry stood up suddenly, as though realizing that he was sitting on top of a burning stove, and crossed the room to get away from Eliza, keeping his back turned.

"I am behaving as I always have," he lied.

"No, you are not!"

Henry snapped his book shut suddenly, and slammed it down on a nearby desk. Eliza jumped at the noise. "Perhaps I grow weary of the shameless way you are taking advantage of my mother."

Eliza's jaw dropped, the confession stabbing at her insides like a knife. She often agonized over the fact that she lived under charity, years of street hardened pride had made her that way. However, even Professor Higgins had gone out of his way to erase those feelings of being a burden in the past. Now it seemed that he had been lying to save her pride, and for whatever reason, he no longer felt it necessary to keep up the deception.

"I shall leave in the morning."

Henry turned her then, a mocking expression on his face. "And where the devil do you think you will go?"

"After this, I really do not see why you would care."

He straightened his spine, and looked down his nose at her. "I would just like to be able to give Mother and Pickering news of your whereabouts, as they are the ones invested in your well-being."

Eliza felt the knife twist a bit more. It was one thing for him to not want her to burden his mother, it was another thing entirely for him to confess indifference towards her. "I suppose you can tell them that I will be at Clara's then."

"Clara Eynsford-Hill, that cotton-headed modern living in a garret Soho with three other girls?" He gave a cruel laugh. "Where on earth would they put you, the broom closet? What of that - that creature you are carrying; where will they keep that?"

Eliza felt her blood go cold. "Wot's the matter wiv ya? Wot kinda man says the things ya do? This ain't a 'thing' or a 'creature' - this is my child!"

Henry took note of how quickly her hurt expression turned to rage, the color rising high in her cheeks; her breath coming out in heavy, labored pants, and her reverting to cockney. He knew he had crossed the line, and vaguely recalled his mother discussing how Eliza was not to be under any sort of strain at all, as it could prove dangerous for herself and the child. He was immediately sorry and a little afraid.

"Eliza, please calm yourself."

"Oh, ho! Ya thought ya could treat me like this and not expect-"

"I was not thinking at all, Eliza-"

"Ya never think! For all yer fine learnin', ya truly are ignorant!" She was shouting now, heedless of the fact that the rest of the house was probably starting to settle into sleep.

"Remember what the doctor-"

Eliza's sudden burst of laughter cut him off. "Why on earth do _you_ remember what the Doctor said? I'm only burden to everyone around me, aren't I - why should you bother with something as trivial as my health?" Henry surmised that either her anger was beginning to ebb, or that she had actually listened to herself speak.

"What on earth is going on?" The pair turned in time to witness Eleanor walk into the room. She had not yet begun to prepare for bed, and had been able to rush downstairs the moment the shouting had reached her ears.

"Your son and I were just discussing my leaving you, Mrs. Higgins."

Eleanor gasped, and rewarded her son with a glare, before going to Eliza's side and leading her to a chair. "Nonsense - absolute nonsense! Child, you are not going anywhere as long as I have breath in my body."

"No one can stop me leaving if I wish, I am my own person!" Eliza cried as she sat down.

"Freddy made it very clear that we were to keep you safe, and I will lock you in the attic before I allow you to force me to go back on a promise I made to your husband!" Eleanor retorted, fiercely. She turned her attention to her son. "What on earth posessed you to bring her to such a state, Henry? Badly done!"

Henry stood dumbfounded and chastised. "I did nothing-"

"Shush! Do not lie to me, Henry Higgins; you were always terrible at it." She turned back to Eliza, who was beginning to breath more calmly. "There now, Eliza; no one wants you to leave."

"Your son certainly does."

"Dearest, he is an idiot-"

"Pardon?" Came Henry's wounded inquiry.

"-and you ought not to listen to a word he says." Eleanor helped Eliza to her feet. "Come, let's not discuss this a moment longer. You need rest."

"I am still not convinced that staying here is a good idea any longer." Eliza remarked as they began to head out of the library.

"Not another word, my dear." Eleanor turned to her son. "Henry, put out the lights when you are through here, and do not show your face tomorrow unless you are sure you can do so without giving offense to everyone you encounter."

The next week went along very much like the previous, only Henry had gone from trading nasty barbs with Eliza to not speaking to her at all. She was now truly a nonentity to him, or at least that was how she felt.

Eleanor took it upon herself to show Eliza the nursery that still remained intact, even though Henry was decades past childhood. Sheets protected the furniture, and it had not been properly dusted in some time.

"I wanted to save it for Henry's children, you see; so I never quite got around to remodeling it into a different sort of room."

Eliza took a turn about the room, smiling at the pastel scenes on the wall, marvelling at the fact that Professor Higgins had once been a child at play. "Oh, Mrs. Higgins - this is lovely, but I am afraid I won't have much use of it once Freddy returns."

Eleanor's heart skipped a beat. News from the western front had been slow, and discouraging. However, she did not want Eliza to lose hope. "Of course not, dear; I was just hoping it would do temporarily."

Eliza ambled over to the older woman and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you so much. I do not deserve such kindness."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course you do." Eleanor smiled sadly. "I think of you very much as my own, you know."

Before Eliza could reply Swithin cleared his throat from the entrance. "This letter has arrived for Mrs. Eynsford-Hill."

"Oh?" Eliza approached the butler, and took the buff colored envelope from his hands. She did not take note of his grave expression, but she immediately took stock of the OHMS stamped on the front of it. She exchanged a worried glance with Eleanor, who had noticed the official stamp on the envelope and had gone very pale. The letter nearly fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers, but Eliza recovered it before it fluttered to the ground. Her entire being focused on the missive in her hands, and her surroundings seemed to disappear. For a while she just stared at the envelope, working up the courage to peruse its contents, knowing full well what it would say, but wanting to have just a few more moments of it not being true.

She opened it.

It is a terrible thing, having one's deepest fears come to reality. Eliza had vividly imagined what it would feel like to be right about this once instance, and had brought herself to tears in the past from conjuring it up so vividly. Her imaginings had been pale imitations of the real thing. This was fatally authentic, and hit her with such a force that all emotion and thought flew from her body, leaving her a shell. She dropped the letter and left the room, heading blindly for her bedroom. Once she arrived at her destination, she sat at her escritoire, pulled out her stationary, and composed a very brief letter, having to steady her right hand by grasping it with her left to halt the violent trembling that caused the date to come out in a barely legible zig-zag.

_20 July 1916_

_Dear Mrs. Pryce,_

_Your son is dead._

_Sincerely,_

_Eliza Eynsford-Hill_


	11. The Cold, Cold Ground

A Better Man

Chapter Ten

The Cold, Cold Ground

Author's Note: Dedicated to Sash, who is awesome. :)

* * *

><p>Colonel Pickering studied the stoic little figure in black, and decided he would sell his own soul if it would bring back the lively little spirit that had once inhabited that lonely, silent shell. Mrs. Higgins had shown Pickering and her son the letter on that terrible day - Eliza had retreated to her room. Even Higgins - whom Pickering suspected was on terrible terms with the young girl once more - had appeared struck by the news. Eliza came downstairs in a daze, and headed to the foyer, a letter clutched in her hand.<p>

_"Dearest, wherever are you going?"_

Eliza gave a start and turned to the concerned trio, looking very much as though she was just noticing their presence, even though she had wordlessly walked past them only moments ago. There was something terribly lifeless about her eyes, unburdened by tears, and betraying nary a single thought. Colonel Pickering had always enjoyed Eliza's eyes, and the ever-changing expression about them - even if he did have trouble remembering their exact color, he never had the same difficulty discerning the feeling behind them.

_"I have to deliver this letter, and I haven't any black gowns."_ It sounded as though she were commenting on the weather, so casual was her delivery.

_"My son will deliver the letter for you, Eliza, and we will just alter one of my own mourning gowns; come now, I will have some tea brought to the parlour." _Colonel Pickering had expected Eliza to fight Mrs. Higgins' deft handling of the situation, but she did not. The girl allowed the letter to be taken from her custody, and then be lead away.

Higgins had not been able to tear his eyes away from her the entire time.

That had been a few days ago. Now they were all sitting in a sparsely populated church, for Freddy's memorial. The boy had been buried on the battlefield in Somme, and with the conflict still raging, retrieving him was an impossibility.

Clara Eynsford-Hill sat at the front pew with Eliza, trying desperately to not shatter in a million pieces. Ordinarily the girl was quite free with her emotions, but now she seemed wary of Eliza's condition. Pickering supposed that the girl could scream and tear at her hair, and Eliza would not acknowledge that it was happening. His dear girl had been thoroughly numbed by her grief. If only she could be rocked and soothed like a small child with a scrapped knee - were it only that simple.

Colonel Pickering turned to his friend, who was heedless to everything save for _her_, silently watching, almost as though he were waiting for something."What on earth are you thinking, Higgins?" He inquired.

"It does not bear repeating." The younger man sighed. "Why does she not break down? She is a female, and no one would think less of her if she did."

"She is in shock, Henry. Eliza is barely twenty-four years old, and now she is a widow with a child on the way. I know it is a hard scenario to imagine yourself in, but please try." Mrs. Higgins intervened.

"That poor, frightened boy," Pickering muttered, thinking back on the last conversation he had with Freddy.

Due to the extremely early hour that the boy had fled, and the lack of flurries in the air, Pickering had been able to identify a set of footprints just outside the Higgins' residence, and decided to follow them. The boy could not had gotten far, and with the chill in the air, he probably had eventually stopped to warm himself.

Interestingly enough, Pickering found the boy in Largelady Park, staring wide-eyed at his old place of residence. The Eynsford-Hill home had been closed up on the occasion of his mother's advantageous match, and she no longer resided there.

_"Mr. Hill?"_ Pickering approached the boy cautiously. At hearing his name, Freddy had turned to the old man, saw who it was, and sighed.

_"Have you come to thrash me?"_ He had asked, in a defeated tone that said he would not argue if that were the case.

_"Nothing of the sort, I assure you; I've come to talk to you." _

_"It's far too chilly out here."_ Freddy had then strode up to his old home, and deftly broke in the front door. _"Make haste before someone sees."_

Colonel Pickering shook off his wide-eyed astonishment, and followed the boy into the house. _"I'll be dashed."_

_"You get acquainted with all manner of sundry in the volunteer army," _Freddy had explained as they entered the parlour. It appeared to be a room full of ghosts, with the darkness combined with the sheets thrown over the furniture. Freddy pulled the sheets off of two chairs, and offered the bewildered old man a seat.

_"Eliza is not angry with you, my boy." _Pickering announced, as Freddy settled into his respective chair.

_"I am angry with myself; I will not be bothering her again."_

_"My boy, you are not the only person to have this happen."_

Freddy looked to the older man, with a curious expression. _"The nightmares? You've had them?"_

_"We've all had them, Freddy. All of us."_

Freddy shook his head, a look of relief on his features. _"It's so terrible out there, Colonel. I am glad that you have been spared this. I thought I was going to be fine until-"_ The boy looked down at his ruined hands. _"It was ours, you know? The wind was wrong... it shouldn't have come back like it did. God, those muffled cries-" _He hid his face in his hands, and Pickering knew the boy was reliving every agonizing second.

_"You are here, Freddy. You are safe and sound in your mother's home, talking to a concerned old friend. It can't touch you here."_

_"Can't it? Look what I've done to my wife! My god - I could have killed her!" _He dropped his hands to his lap and looked down at them. _"I worked so hard to keep the death out of our letters, tried so hard to protect her - I brought the war to our home!"_

_"There are measures to take to ensure it does not happen again, Freddy. You do not have to live in fear of another occurence. Be reasonable, man - Eliza needs you. Would you truly abandon her?"_

_"I cannot even fathom looking into her eyes again. All I can see is how they looked as I-" _Freddy could not finish.

_"Then I will stay here with you until you can bring yourself to do so, but you must go back to her. This whole ordeal is killing her."_

The two ended up talking for hours, with Freddy finally agreeing that he would go back and face Eliza. Pickering had been aghast at the tales Freddy told, and the old man was no stranger to the battlefields. This was new territory though - the flooded trenches, the twisted metal, the new toxins that floated in the air. Never in Pickering's wildest imaginings could he conjure up such images - and the waste, the unnecessary waste of an entire generation of boys. If they came back at all, they would come back wrong, like Freddy.

A late-comer to the service entered Colonel Pickering's peripheral vision, and he turned to see who it could possibly be. Alarmed, he nudged Higgins, who turned and practically snarled at the sight.

Dressed to the very nines in terms of mourning-wear, with an ancient-yet-dapper man at her side, was Mrs. Pryce, formerly Eynsford-Hill. The pair trudged up the center aisle, with a straight and condescending sort of bearing, before picking their seat at the front, right next to Clara and Eliza. Clara's jaw dropped, and something resembling a spark of outrage passed over Eliza's features before she schooled them back into their blank state. Clara urged Eliza to scoot over so that a divide was presented between Mother and Daughter, the daughter in question presenting her mother with the most blatant I-Am-Snubbing-You face that she could muster. Mrs. Pryce was not paying attention to her daughter, however. Her gaze was obviously fixed on Eliza's midsection, and Pickering vaguely realized that this was the first time Mrs. Pryce was seeing her daughter-in-law in her delicate condition. Eliza had begun to grow considerably.

"What is that old crone staring at?" Henry muttered a little too loudly to be discreet. His mother hushed him as severely as she could, and Eliza turned to him. Strangely, his heartbeat picked up when her eyes met his, and then nearly came to a standstill when she miraculously smiled. It was barely noticeable, practically a mere twitch in one corner of her mouth, but there it was.

After the ceremony, Clara helped Eliza to her feet, and attempted to steer her toward the side aisle, in order to avoid Mrs. Pryce and her husband.

"Clara, please." Eliza's voice was barely above a whisper, and slightly raspy from underuse. Clara gave Eliza a questioning look, but said nothing as she turned to the older woman and approached her calmly. Mrs. Pryce straightened her spine, and pressed her lips into a thin line. The mourners in the chapel were all privy to the details of Freddy's seperation with his mother, knew that Eliza was the cause of the rift. All eyes were on the scene unfolding, and all waited with bated breath.

"Mrs. Pryce - how wonderful to see you. I am so sorry that I missed you when Freddy went to war, and again when he came home last Christmas. I recall informing you on both-"

"How dare you speak to me in such a tone, or even at all? You stole my son away from me, and then you sent him to his death when he could not measure up to what you expected. He wrote to me - countless times- speaking of his disgrace at being a mere errand boy while you ran that store - shamless!"

This was news to Eliza. Freddy had never so much as hinted at the fact that he kept correspondence with his mother. The revelation stung greatly, a jolt to her numbed being.

"He never told me."

"Of course he did not, why on earth would he? I was his sole confessor during that time, and I begged him not to enlist, to come home. Mr. Pryce could have neatly made your sham of a marriage disappear. He stopped writing after I made that suggestion."

"I believe it - that was a cruel suggestion."

"You marrying him was cruel, you stupid girl! You who brought him so low in society - you destroyed him! It would have been a mercy on your part to let him go, and now he is dead, and you have his child." Mrs. Pryce looked over at Henry, who fairly trembled with barely restrained rage, and smiled maliciously. "Of course, one tends to hear gossip every now and again-"

"Mother, get out!" Clara bellowed, heedless of the spectacle.

"Clara, this is a house of God-"

"Oh, do not be absurd, Mother and tell me you care about such things, when you are making those sorts of accusations."

Eliza felt a dizzy spell begin to overtake her, and sat down quite suddenly, causing the bickering mother and daughter to cease their argument, and take note. Clara was immediately at Eliza's side, fanning her face in an attempt to allow her some air. It was almost unbearably stuffy in the church. Clara looked up at her mother, her expression even darker than it had been before.

"Mother, I do not think we will be seeing each other, henceforth. I cannot order you to leave a house of God, as you say, but if you have any pity in your heart you will leave right now. I am afraid if I have to continue looking at your face I will scream. Please."

Mrs. Pryce inhaled sharply, and it looked as though she had more to say. She began to open her mouth, before a sharp voice spoke up from a few rows back.

"If you do not leave this instant, I will drag you out by your hair, and if that dusty bag of bones you are wed to does not like it, he is welcome to call me out!"

Eliza turned wide-eyed to Professor Higgins, wondering for a moment if she had imagined what he had said. She had not. The whole congregation erupted in whispers as Mrs. Pryce fled the church, sputtering angrily, her husband lagging behind with a slightly dazed look about him.

Soon, Eliza was surrounded by well-wishers, some she had never met in her life. Her father and his new wife had attended, and she politely turned down a five pound note that Alfred had contritely tried to gift her. Her eyes were trained past the gathering crowd, to the solitary figure that stood waiting at the entrance to the church, impatiently running a hand through his hair. She wondered why he waited for her, when any number of people would have been happy to escort her home.

Not that she had a home.


	12. Without

A Better Man

Chapter Eleven

Without

Author's note: Thank you for the overwhelming response to the last chapter! You ladies (and possibly some gentlemen?) are the greatest!

* * *

><p>Henry never seriously considered the threat to his immortal soul until he successfully wished away Freddy Eynsford-Hill. It was true that he never outright pondered the pleasure of seeing the boy dead, a garden variety total abandonment of Eliza had been about as grim as the fantasy had gotten - but Henry had still wished the boy gone, and now he was dead.<p>

Eliza's dealing of the situation offered no pleasure either. It had been so easy to conjure up smug delight when he fantasized over her utter devastation; it was another thing entirely to be faced with the reality of it. The sad, stunned silence that had become a part of Eliza's entire being did not entice Henry to boast and gloat over her misfortune, nor did he even contemplate slamming the door in her face - not that he could, this was his mother's home, after all.

It was devastatingly disappointing, and not to mention shaming, having one's darkest and most private of wishes come to fruition.

Such thoughts haunted Henry as he returned to his mother's home after Freddy's memorial. Eliza kept a few paces behind him, on the arm of Pickering, and Henry escorted his mother. They had decided to forgo the customary reception, as food supplies were growing scarce, and not many families held large dinners any longer. The sight of Eliza fanning her face with her hand caused Henry to feel a stab of pity. The summer heat had taken its toll on Eliza before news of Freddy's death, he imagined it now could only be worse with her being restricted to mourning garb for the forseeable future. Damned barbaric customs.

"Excuse me, I think I need to go lie down," she explained, a bit breathlessly. Henry's mother assisted Eliza on the laborious journey upstairs. Her painfully slow steps concerned Henry, a feeling now permanently associated with the girl. It filled him with irritation, the fact that he could not look at her without wondering if she were well.

_What's to become of me?_ That question repeated like a prayer in Eliza's mind, as she lay in a bed that was not hers, in a house that also did not belong to her. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to be on her own, and the thought was beginning to frighten her. Except she would not be alone, would she? Eliza let a hand fall to her stomach, feeling the heated skin seperated by the fine lawn material of her nightgown. A quiver of movement beneath her hand confirmed that she would never be alone again.

_Our child._ Eliza allowed hot tears to spill down her cheeks, although she did not sob or cry out, and her blank expression did not alter. She needed Freddy beside her, to share in the moment when their son or daughter entered the world. It would never be so.

Eliza thought about what Mrs. Pryce had said, and began to agree with the older woman. She had not trusted Freddy with anything critical involving the flower shop, and she had given him a degrading task. It was no wonder that he felt so emasculated that he volunteered for the army, even refusing to accept Colonel Pickering's offer to ensure he was placed in a safe situation. It was true that he would have been drafted in February, when the act of conscription passed, but perhaps he could have protested, on the grounds of Eliza being with child. Perhaps...

She could not believe that he had been in contact with his mother the whole time, and had not said anything. It was a betrayal, to be sure, but Eliza could not get angry over it, not ever. How she wished he were standing before her, so she could berate and resent him without feeling an overpowering sense of guilt at doing so.

"Damn you, Freddy Eynsford-Hill," she cursed under her breath. The ensuing shame hit her like a freight train, especially when Freddy's sweet, earnest face appeared in her mind's eye. She would never, ever see that face again unless it was in dreams.

**September 1916**

"You need to cease looking at Eliza with an expression that clearly states that you think she is as big as a house."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That is what she told me this morning during tea. She finds it very insulting, you know."

Henry gaped at his mother. He had just walked through the door after a day at the factory with Colonel Pickering, and instead of a warm greeting, she opened by scolding him out of the blue over something Eliza had imagined.

"Does it occur to you that I rarely see Eliza anymore? The girl is confined to her room more often than not."

"I do not know, Henry; she told me that she came to the library for a book the other day, when she was still feeling well, and you gave a start as though just realizing how awful she looked."

"Were those her exact words?"

"They were."

"Insufferable girl! I suppose she forgot to mention that she knocked over a vase when she walked into the library - it did not break, Mother - and that is why I looked startled?"

"She did not."

"Probably because she knocked it over with her oversized stomach, and was embarassed."

"Henry!"

Her son had the gall to shoot her a thoroughly innocent look.

"You must admit that she has gotten rather large."

Eleanor threw her hands in the air, and walked away, disgusted at her son's lack of tact. Henry looked to Pickering, completely baffled.

"These confounded women, Pick! I daresay we are the only sane people left in the household."

"Oh, Higgins - you must be sensible. Women become very sensitive about such things, and you have got to approach the situation with more care than you have."

"I always take care in what I say to Eliza."

Colonel Pickering seemed to be at war with himself for a moment. A part of him did not want to insult his friend by taking it upon himself to make contradiction, but another part of him remembered Higgins' not-so-sotto-voce exclamation of 'Ye gods!' the first time he noticed that Eliza was beginning to show. He often wondered at how one person could persist in being so spectacularly unselfaware.

"If you say so, old man," Pickering replied before heading to the study, intent on pouring himself a stiff drink.

It became clear that night that Eliza was not well enough to join the trio for dinner, so Eleanor had a light tray brought up to her. The affair was silent, punctuated by the occasional work anecdote from Colonel Pickering. Everyone was painfully aware of how close Eliza's due date was, and the fact hung over them in a heavy, anxious black cloud. The dynamic of their little makeshift family would inevitably be turned on its head with the arrival of Eliza's child, and the uncertainty of what they change would mean made them all very uneasy.

Eleanor and Pickering were determined that the child should have as normal of a life as they could provide. It did not matter that the child's grandparents both maternal and paternal were bound to be nonentities in his or her life, Pickering and Eleanor would simply have to become Grandfather and Grandmother, respectively. Henry, whether he wanted to or not, would be titled with obscure Uncle.

Of course, society would definitely have their opinions on the arrangement.

Whispers had risen to a fever pitch, ever since Mrs. Pryce had made her accusations at Freddy's memorial. It was entirely possible to the general population, that Professor Higgins - a confirmed bachelor - had fathered a lovechild with Eliza Doolittle, mysterious upstart. A few modern types declared it romantic, the idea of an embittered, stodgy academic falling madly in love with his pupil - and who could blame him? Eliza, questionable origins aside, was a stunningly fetching young thing. One as pretty as herself was bound to get lonely with her young husband away.

Yes, it was entirely possible, and a secretly accepted fact. After all, anyone who had ever met Freddy Eynsford-Hill while he was growing up knew him to be a painfully shy, awkward, albeit handsome boy. Perhaps their marriage had not been consumated at all! Several classmates of Freddy even testified that they thought the boy practically fey - in the most derogatory sense - even if he did show a bit of manhood by enlisting well before the act of conscription.

Mrs. Pryce had done all the damage she could possibly do. Eliza's reputation was in shambles almost before she could finish building it.

Henry was about to comment on dinner, when one of the few maids Eleanor still posessed, ran into the dining room, unannounced. The young girl was white as a sheet.

"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but Mrs. Eynsford-'ill is sayin' that the baby is on its way, and I've just called the doctor!" The child's dialect betrayed a hasty promotion from scullery maid to regular housemaid, after the war effort had turned most of Eleanor's staff into soldiers or nurses. Henry felt his teeth being set on edge at awful cockney twang.

_Good lord, the baby!_ Almost immediately, Henry forgot his complaint about dropped 'H's.

"Oh, my! Thank you, Sarah. Please tell Mrs. Eynsford-Hill that I will be upstairs directly." The chit curtsied, and left the trio to soak in the news.

"I want you gentlemen to go and do what you do best -smoke and drink brandy in the study- I will see to Eliza." Eleanor started for the door, but paused. "Could one of you please see that Clara is informed of the news? She would never forgive me if I left her in the dark."

The two men were left alone, dumb-founded, and a more than a little frightened for their young friend.

Hours passed, and Clara had arrived shortly after Pickering phoned her, stumbling awkwardly over the announcement that Eliza was giving birth. There were just some things that a confirmed bachelor did not care to discuss.

As Eleanor predicted, the brandy flowed, albeit more in a medicinal manner than a celebratory one. It seemed that everytime one of Eliza's agonized cries rent through the air, a new drink had to be poured.

"Good god, Pickering, why on earth do they put themselves through such torture?" Henry asked from across the smoke-filled room. He felt rather like Sherlock Holmes, in that Eliza's ordeal was turning into a three pipe problem - possibly more before the night let out. Henry nearly choked on a cloud of smoke he was inhaling when he heard the unmistakable sound of Freddy's name being invoked via a nearly unearthly wail. Even dead, the mention of the boy managed to cause an odd twisting in Henry's heart.

"Higgins, if women did not gallantly put themselves through 'such torture' you and I would not exist."

"Poor Eliza," Henry replied, fully meaning it.

It was nearly four in the morning, when Dr. Hardwicke entered the study. "Mrs. Higgins asked that I inform you gentlemen her wish that you would retire for the night. The child will not be arriving any time soon."

Henry's heart nearly stopped at the news. "Eliza-"

"- Is doing well. Mrs. Eynsford-Hill is healthy, she is just -" Dr. Hardwicke blushed, he was not accustomed to explaining delicate things to people who were not anxious husbands. "-her physiology dictates that this will be a long process." Thoroughly mortified, the doctor fled the study, and headed back to Eliza's bedroom.

"Well, I shan't be sleeping after news like that, what say you, Higgins?"

"There's plenty more brandy."

The sun was high in the sky, and Henry and Pickering were passed out in a drunken stupor in their respective chairs when the unmistakable cry of a robust newborn filled the household. Henry jerked to consciousness immediately, feeling as though he had been thoroughly thrashed with cricket bats for hours. He cracked his neck, and turned to his slumbering friend.

"Pickering, wake up!"

The older man awoke after a bit, his fuzzy look of confusion turning into one of sober concern when he heard the cry.

Eleanor appeared at the entrance, as they were straightening their rumpled clothing and hair, and stretching.

"Eliza has a son."


	13. Jack

A Better Man

Chapter Twelve

Jack

* * *

><p>Eliza vaguely recalled a fuzzy image of a small newborn, red faced and dark haired, before she lost consciousness. The pain had been great, and the room was sweltering, despite the cold cloth that Clara had dabbed over her face during the ordeal. She hovered peacefully in repose, heedless of the panic her fainting was causing.<p>

"Open a window, quickly!" Dr. Hardwicke commanded. Clara jumped into action, throwing open the largest window in the room, nearest to Eliza's bed. Eleanor took over with the cloth, dipping it in fresh water, and placing it on Eliza's forehead, pleading with the girl to get her to wake up.

The room breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes fluttered open.

"Freddy?" As soon as she said it, Eliza realized the futility of the request. Her eyes dulled, and she looked away from Eleanor's concerned gaze.

"You have a son, Eliza. He's healthy, and perfect." Eleanor smiled sadly at the girl, hoping that the news would bring a light to her eyes. Eliza weakly attempted to push the cloth from her forehead, seemingly deaf to the announcement.

Dr. Hardwicke, having finished cleaning off the boy, carried him to his mother. Eliza reluctantly lifted her eyes to the doctor, and allowed him to set the swaddled babe in her arms. She looked down and a head full of dark hair with the promise of a slight curl, his eyes screwed shut, making it impossible to discern the shape, and a round, red face. The babe had her mouth, and her nose, and that was all she could tell for the time being.

"His name is Frederick John," she recited dully. It had never occured to her to pick out a name, and as he was a boy, it only seemed fitting to name him after his father. She touched the child's tiny fists with her forefinger, and stared in wonder as he grasped at the slender digit, his grip a tiny pulse that promised greater strength in the future. Little Frederick opened his eyes, and Eliza felt a curious tug at her heart when she realized that they were the exact shape of his father's; keen, intelligent eyes that would most likely turn smoke-colored in a matter of months.

"I will go downstairs and make an announcement to Henry and Colonel Pickering." Eleanor kissed Eliza cool, damp forehead. "He's such a handsome little thing, Eliza. Be proud."

Dr. Hardwicke excused himself to wash up, and Eliza was left in the room with Clara. A sob in near her bedside caused Eliza to give a start. She looked up at her sister-in-law, who was fairly trembling with emotion at the sight of Little Frederick.

"Would you like to hold him?" Eliza inquired. The weeping girl nodded through her tears, and carefully took her nephew into her arms.

"Hello, little man," Clara cooed, once she regained control of her voice. "My beautiful, handsome, wonderful boy."

"I see you've wasted no time puffing him up and spoiling him," Eliza teased in a voice no stronger than the mewl of a kitten.

"Why shouldn't I? He's the only nephew I will ever have." Clara's own words reduced her to tears once again, and she handed the child back to Eliza while she attempted to compose herself. Eliza watched her sister-in-law, sinking in to her usual detachment. She wished that she could emerge from her cold and empty cell, and scream at the injustice that the universe had thrown at her. She wanted more than anything to cry, and carry on until her voice grew hoarse; to rail at God and beg for her life back, but something overpowering and stifling held her in check. The pain of childbirth had forced an inevitable outburst, true, but that had been an expression of physical pain, which seemed paltry compared to the agony she suffered internally.

Clara left the room when the doctor returned to examine Eliza. He could not discern any physical ailment, other than the need for her to rest and recover. He did not believe it prudent to inform her that she would be able to have many more children in the future, seeing as she was so very recently widowed. He felt pity for the girl, but knew that she was one of many in these times - not that he would be so tactless as to tell her so. Human beings, for some reason, liked to think that their grief was unique, and that they were the only ones who could feel it keenly. Dr. Hardwicke to not have to heart nor the courage to disabuse them of such a notion.

It was later in the afternoon before Clara brought Little Freddy downstairs to be introduced to the other men of the house. Eliza would be excused from present company until she recovered.

Pickering seemed absolutely enthralled by the newborn, comfortable fitting into the role of doting old grandfather.

"Now, here's a fine little chap! Intelligent too, no doubt - and feel that grip! - good lord, this one is going to be the finest rower in London when he grows up!"

Eleanor nodded in agreement, as Clara beamed proudly. "I declare I've not seen a more handsome baby-" She caught her son's hurt looks. -"Since my Henry," she added, hastily.

Henry did not have much (any) experience with newborns. It was true that some of his fellow academics gave in to the temptation of a proper family, and some of them were now fathers, but Henry had always found excuses not to pay call after children had entered their lives. He imagined that he would not care much for children. They were always underfoot when he found himself on the town, dirty little ruffians.

This was Eliza's boy, however.

Henry supposed his mother and Pickering were right. Once you looked past the squashed tomato appearance of the babe's face, he was quite pleasant to look at. The amount of dark hair on his little head was most impressive, and when he opened his tiny eyes to stare at Henry, the older man was struck by the wisdom that lie therein. However, the effect was quite spoiled by the tiny bubble of spit that arose from the child's cherubic mouth.

"Yes, I suppose he is a handsome devil, but that is no surprise; both his parents - his mother in particular- are attractive sort of people." He felt as though he should have worked the word 'were' into that sentence somehow, for mentioning Freddy in the present tense caused a bit of awkward silence in the room, broken only by a thin cry from Little Freddy.

"My poor little angel; I will take him back to Eliza - undoubtedly he's hungry." Clara left with the child.

"Eliza is well, then?" Henry inquired of his mother, who had been giving her son a curious sort of look ever since he gave credit to Eliza for bearing a handsome child, admitting that he found the woman to be attractive.

"She is quite healthy, yes. The labor was long, but it did not do any sort of -... she is quite healthy." Eleanor had begun to go into detail, but realized to whom she was speaking to, and thought better of it.

"Is she happy? Women get so silly over babies, and I thought for sure this would cheer her up a bit."

Eleanor frowned. "I cannot read the girl for the life of me; she is so quiet, and unemotional. I do not think she's had a proper cry over Freddy, and she has not so much as smiled at the babe."

Henry recalled the night of the Embassy Ball, when Eliza had unleashed her fury at him, and knew she was capable of emotion. She was passionate, loud, and strong; far removed from this quiet, dead-leaf echo that haunted his mother's home. There had to be a way to reach that person, because Henry did not know how much longer his heart could take this pretty, empty shell that had been put in her place.

He did not have to wait very long for the axe to fall.

It was about mid-October; Little Freddy had just turned a month old, and was turning into a thriving, fat little thing. Eliza was doing her expected duty towards the child; feeding him, clothing him, rocking him to sleep, but she was performing her tasks without the heart and the tenderness that everyone expected of her. It did not seem to matter to the boy; what he lacked in affection from his mother, he received ten-fold from Eleanor, Pickering, and his aunt Clara - who was now a permanent fixture in the household.

Eliza was sitting at the breakfast table across from Henry, and they were both engaged in reading the newspaper. Henry thought she looked rather tired that morning. Little Freddy was going through a bit of a cold, and as a result had not been keeping very regular hours.

"The coffee is a bit strong this morning," Henry remarked with a grimace.

"I requested it. I needed something-" Eliza gave a great yawn. "-to keep me going. The baby was fussing all night, and I simply could not get a moment's peace." Eliza never referred to Little Freddy by his name, even though she was the one who had given it to him. He was always The Baby or The Boy; never Freddy. The household had picked up on the unspoken taboo, and followed suit. It seemed strange, though, that the child not have a proper name.

"I am sure Mother would not mind if his aunt stayed in one of the guest rooms tonight and saw to his welfare."

Eliza shook her head. "No, that would not do at all - I am his mother."

Henry thought it unwise to make a retort, so he did not. They resumed reading in companionable silence - that is until the most curious noise filled the room. Henry's ears were assailed by what very much sounded like a female sobbing. He looked up from his paper and across the table to Eliza. It _was_ a female sobbing. It was her.

"Eliza?" She was seemingly deaf to anything but her powerful, pent-up grief. Eliza gasped, trembled, and nearly choked from the brute force of it, covering her face with her hands, her body slightly bent over in the chair. Henry sprang from his seat, and rushed to her side, fearing some sort of invisible injury had befallen her. "Eliza, are you hurt?"

Colonel Pickering and Eleanor Higgins entered the room, bewildered looks upon their faces. Immediately they came to Eliza's aid, pressing her with concerned questions. The girl continued to weep, ignoring them all entirely. Suddenly - in the midst of it all - Eliza abruptly stood up, and fled the room.

"What on earth happened? Henry - did you say something to her?"

"Not at all, Mother; we were both reading silently, when this tempest broke." Eliza's discarded newspaper caught Henry's eye, and he picked it up, hoping that perhaps it held a clue.

"Ah." Henry was at a definite loss for words. He handed the page to his mother and Pickering, to allow them to be the judge. Tears appeared in Eleanor's eyes as she read, and Pickering nodded, fully understanding, and quite touched by the piece. It was no wonder it had an effect on Eliza:

"Have you news of my boy Jack?"  
><em>Not this tide.<em>  
>"When d'you think that he'll come back?"<br>_Not with this wind blowing, and this tide._

"Has any one else had word of him?"  
><em>Not this tide.<em>  
><em>For what is sunk will hardly swim,<em>  
><em>Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.<em>

"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"  
><em>None this tide,<em>  
><em>Nor any tide,<em>  
><em>Except he did not shame his kind —<em>  
><em>Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.<em>

_Then hold your head up all the more,_  
><em>This tide,<em>  
><em>And every tide;<em>  
><em>Because he was the son you bore,<em>  
><em>And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!<em>

Eliza stumbled into her bedroom, and her eyes fell upon her son, sleeping peacefully in his bassinet, a touch of color in his slightly fevered cheeks, and his little mouth slack. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen in her life. She gently took him into her arms, careful to not awaken him, and pressed a tender kiss on the top of his curly dark head. Eliza was able to surpress her sobs, but the tears continued to flow, dropping here and there on her son's blanket.

"Forgive me, sweetheart," she whispered.

Eliza tried to form the name 'Freddy' on her lips, but her throat still tightened with the effort. "Jack," she whispered instead. There it was; merely a pet version of his middle name, but it would serve.

* * *

><p>End Notes: Credit for the poem "My Boy Jack", and the plot bunny in general, goes to Rudyard Kipling. First published simultaneously in <em>The Times<em>, _The Daily Telegraph, _and _The New York Times_ nineteenth of October 1916, many believe it to be written about his son, John Kipling who perished in The Battle of Loos, but there have been some claims to the contrary.


	14. Daylight

A Better Man

Chapter Thirteen

Daylight

* * *

><p><strong>Spring 1917<strong>

Eleanor nearly cried the day the flowers were ripped from her garden, but she understood why, and had consented to it when asked. The food shortages were becoming unbearable, with the farmers fleeing their plows to fight in the war, and the blockades. Eliza had approached her with an idea one morning during breakfast; the flower shop was failing dismally, and Eliza felt that people would much rather have something to eat rather then smell or look at. Eleanor's gardening space was expansive, and Eliza had been reading about cultivating vegetable gardens. Wouldn't it be a marvelous venture - she had suggested - to use the space they had for growing and selling vegetables at a very reasonable - nearly charitable - price?

Eleanor agreed that it would, and had kissed the young girl on the cheek and commended her for being so very clever - even though her heart was breaking just a little bit.

So there she found herself, sitting at a small table in the gardens, dandling seven month old Jack on one knee, as Eliza and Burt the gardener diligently pulled out the prized flowers, and replaced them with seeds that would produce snap beans, tomatoes, and anything else that could turn a good profit and fill an empty belly.

"Eliza - really, dearest, you need not work yourself so hard!" Eleanor chided.

Eliza looked up from her work, hair a frazzle, and a smudge of dirt marring her fair skin. "Now, ma'am, I ain't 'fraid to get me 'ands a little dirty." Jack squealed with delight at the unfamiliar way his mother spoke, and she rewarded her son with a wink. Eleanor felt relief at the child's joy; his first tooth was coming through and his temperament at the unwelcome intrusion was making life difficult for everyone.

Henry walked into the garden, upon hearing Eliza speaking in her native tongue. He felt as though he had stepped into the past, when he saw her bent over in the dirt, looking every inch the impoverished flower girl he had discovered that one fateful night. The thought was not an unpleasant one, for those memories came from a much simpler time - a time he would willingly turn the clocks back for.

"Mother - you really must not let in any sort of riffraff from the street into your home - Oh, hello Jack; come here, my boy - if you let one in, more will follow," Henry teased, taking the child from Eleanor, and sitting down. His fondness for the child never failed to astonish Eleanor, or anyone else for that matter. Perhaps it was the fact that Jack had immediately become attached to Henry, without any sort of urging from outside influence. The child just naturally gravitated towards the man, and - miracle of miracles - Henry did not discourage it.

"Professor, my son is not a cat!" Eliza scolded with a half smile - Henry was dangling his pocketwatch in front of the boy's pale, captivated eyes, and Jack was attempting to grasp at it with his small, chubby hands.

"Oh, very well then - here you are, boy." Henry allowed Jack to take the time-piece, in which he promptly shoved into his drooling mouth, and then removed with an unguarded look of infantile disgust before dropping it entirely. Henry did not seem appalled in the least bit at the child's rough treatment of the expensive trinket, as his eyes were trained on Eliza, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Eleanor.

"It must be so wonderful to be such a natural beauty that a little bit of dirt and grime does absolutely nothing to distract from it - don't you agree, Henry?" Eleanor could not decide who was blushing the deepest at her remark: Eliza, who was still having trouble accepting such compliments, or Henry, who probably was not aware that someone had noticed his staring.

"She looks the same to me as she ever has," Henry remarked, after clearing his throat. Jack began to fuss.

Eliza rose to her feet, and wiped her dirty hands upon her skirt, her cheeks still blazing from Eleanor's little exchange with Henry. She took her son out of Henry's custody, and pressed a kiss against his chubby cheek.

"Whatever is the matter, Jack?" She threw an apologetic look at Burt. "I am afraid I have to put my son down for his nap, Burt - can you manage without me for a while?"

The gruff old man waved his hand at her, dismissively. "I managed just fine fer three decades before ya decided to lend a 'and, Mrs. 'ill - go and get out o' the sun before ya freckle yer fine complexion."

Henry thought that it was a bit too late for that. A smattering of freckles played across the bridge of her nose as they spoke. Unfashionable to most, but devilishly charming to Henry. As though hearing his thoughts, Eliza raised her hand to self-consciously cover her nose, before entering the house. Henry found himself smiling fondly at the sight, before checking himself. There would be quite enough of that for one day.

**13 June 1917**

"Come now, Eliza - can't someone else take your little charity basket for you?"

Eliza narrowed her eyes at Henry. "Burt is escorting me, and it is not a charity basket, it is a sample basket in order to show people the quality of my wares, and tell them where they can be purchased."

"It is a charity basket, Eliza. No one is going to travel from Whitechapel to Brompton for a green grocer."

"They will if the price is right."

"Is that so? Well, enjoy being torn limb from limb by starving ruffians."

Eliza pressed her lips into a thin line, and deepened the intensity of her glare, before turning dramatically on her heel and storming from the house, with Henry chuckling at her. It was true, she was heading towards the east end with wares that were to be given freely to its denizens, and she doubted any of them would be in a position to travel to the posher neighborhood her flower shop was located at. She did not care a jot, though. Memories of leaner times still plagued her, and while she did not have much, she still had considerably more then the people of her former caste. Professor Higgins' scorn at her gesture stung a great deal - what was wrong with having a kind heart towards the less fortunate? He would never understand what it was like to shiver, and starve to the point of digging through the dustbin, as she had done as a child when her father's meager income was being thrown away in the pub.

Henry Higgins could take his fine airs and graces and shove them up his arse. Eliza had better things to do then to look down her nose at the less fortunate.

The less fortunate seemed a bit proud on that day. Eliza faced incredulous looks, and outright rejection from some when she entered the Whitechapel district.

"Yer pride gonna feed them four, then?" Eliza asked, when a worn-out, pinched face mother of indeterminate age tried to tell the 'fine lady' off. Astonished at the familiar dialect coming from such a nicely turned out specimen, the woman bit down on her pride and accepted one of the baskets.

"Eliza?" The woman in question turned to see a rather pretty - albeit rather dirty - young woman wave her down. Eliza walked over to her, hesitantly.

"It's Emma Smith, ya silly girl!" Ah, yes - Eliza remembered now. She had been a bit of a confidante, back in the old days. The years of living rough had not done much to dim the brilliant hue of her bright blue eyes, although lines on her face were beginning at the corners of her pert mouth.

"Emma, what ya doin' all this way? Don't ya still live-"

"I live 'ere now, 'Liza. Been down on me luck, and 'ad to move elsewhere."

The two women strolled together, catching up, and making a curious sort of pair. Burt completed the oddity, grizzled and slightly bent, arms overflowing with baskets.

It was only when they heard the aeroplanes overhead, did the girls stop their chatter in order to gaze up at the sky to see the crafts, great and white flying above.

"It's our boys!" Emma cried, shouting joyfully at the spectacle. Eliza felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, which always signified trouble.

"Emma, I think we had better get to shelter."

"Why ya talkin' like that, 'Liza? It's just our-"

Emma was cut off by the screams in the street as the bombs began to fall in broad daylight.

Henry had only been teasing Eliza, earlier that day, but the look she gave him as she stormed away stayed with him for some reason. He had been told on several occasions that he tended to tease too hard, especially where Eliza was concerned. They had been getting on so very well, too.

The look continued to plague him as he sat in the nursery with Jack, urging the boy to improve his crawling. The child fell to his stomach after a failed attempt, and had raised his head to give Henry a look that eerily echoed his mother's.

"Tosh, Jack - It's not as if I pushed you down." The boy began to scream, and Henry picked him up in a panic, dead-set on searching for Pickering, Eleanor, or even that hanger-on Clara. They were all better equipped to deal with Jack's tantrums.

"Mother!" He cried, hurrying down the stairs. A violent tremor tore through the house, and nearly caused Henry to lose his footing, and drop the boy.

"Henry!" His mother came into view, face ashen. "We must get to the cellar, quickly!"

Cold panic gripped at Henry. "Where is Eliza?"

"Hurry, Henry - the boy!"

The small, squirming, panicking life in Henry's arms spurred him to action. He followed his mother, while Jack screamed into his ear. Now he feared the sight of Eliza's outraged face would be permanently etched into his memory - something he would see every single time he closed his eyes at night. It could have very well been the last moment he shared with her, and he had mocked her in it.

Stupid, stupid beast.

They were cooped in that cellar for what felt like ages. The entire time, Henry kept his eyes on the door, willing Eliza to come walking through them as though nothing had happened. Henry was certain he would shake her if that happened. How dare she make him worry so? Who the devil did she think she was?

She did not come.

Finally, the little makeshift family emerged from their hiding place, and headed into the streets to survey the damage. It appeared that their neighborhood was untouched, and the tremors they felt had come from a distance. Henry spotted a rather filthy looking boy of about eight running through the streets, and intercepted him.

"Where have you come from, boy?" He barked. The child began to weep, and Henry dimly heard his mother scolding him for being so insensitive.

"T-the east sir - It's real bad over there, it is. Me mum 'as a position in one of the 'ouses over 'ere. I got out of the school but me sister, sir..." The child spotted Eleanor and recognized a maternal spirit in her; with a sob he threw himself into her arms. "Please, 'elp me find me mum! They won't let me in all dirty-like..."

"Hush, child, I will take you to her."

Henry watched as his mother walked off with the boy. He turned to Pickering, who bore a stricken expression as he held on to Jack. "A school, Pickering?"

"God damn them."

"Eliza was giving out baskets on the east end." Henry was beginning to know how Eliza felt, those long and terrible months after Freddy had died. Something inside of him was not quite registering the fact that she could be gone, and yet another terrible part of him was insisting that she was. The war inside of him made his heart feel as though it would hammer clear through his chest, and yet stop entirely. He looked to her son, cranky, and no doubt confused at the long absence of a mother who was usually loathe to part from his side. What the devil would be done about him if his mother was lost?

Henry found himself meticulously going over every memory he had of the girl. Most of them were not pleasant, and he was not proud of those moments. He had bullied, and yelled, and pushed, and...

They had danced together. Oh yes, there had been that dance at the ball, with hundreds of people watching her, and whispering about her, and she had been so ethereal and elegant, but that was not the dance he recalled. No, this dance had occured in the wee hours of the morning, and had been a jovial celebration of her monumental triumph. There had been no princes, dignitaries, or socialites hovering around them - it had been only the two of them... well, and Pickering, but the man had been too lost in the celebration to take note of their own private moment. The way she had looked at him...

He had not taken note of it then, but there had been something more to her dreamy gaze then just mere exhaustion. He so wanted to be able to question her about it now.

She still did not come.

This could not be the end, surely. He refused to believe that his last words to her had been "Enjoy being torn limb from limb by starving ruffians". Impossible. It could not end with that. He may as well have told her that he wished she'd be blown to bits by-

Oh, god, there were tears burning at his eyes. He quickly blinked them down into submission, and sighed, eyes towards the east.

She was running down the sidewalk, crying for her son, with that damned ancient gardener trailing behind her.

"Jack!" She ran to Pickering, blind to everyone but the one person who was the still point in her turning world. Her boy.

Jack was in her arms in an instant, getting kisses rained all over his face, and hair. Neither Pickering nor Henry dared interfere on their reunion, even though the younger man wanted nothing more than to pull her into an embrace, and then lock her in her room, never to venture out alone again.

The violence of that emotion startled him.

* * *

><p>Author's note: The school referred to by the young boy is, of course, The Upper North Street School in Poplar. On the thirteenth of June 1917, a bomb was dropped on the school killing eighteen. Sixteen of those deaths were children between the ages four to six.<p> 


	15. The Space Between

A Better Man

Chapter Fourteen

The Space Between

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, my dears! I had a wedding to attend to, and the preparations for it took up some time. Enjoy this chapter, and its tiny hint of lemon zest.

* * *

><p>He wanted to tell her about the way he felt immediately after she came running down the sidewalk, but he decided to wait and allow her an emotional reunion with her young son.<p>

Much later, he intended on working up the courage to broach the subject; alas, his mother, Pickering, and Clara - who had arrived shortly after the raid was over- insisted on hearing Eliza's account of the destruction, and he delayed once more.

Apparently many thanks were owed to Burt the gardener, who posessed an uncanny memory for every nook and cranny in London, and had rushed Eliza and a young lady she had been conversing with to safety. Eliza was visibly shaken by the experience, particularly when she shared the news of the Upper North Street School. News of its destruction had spread like wildfire after the raid, and Eliza ran the entire way home after hearing of it, desperate to get to Jack, and to revel in holding him when there were many mothers that would not get to do the same ever again.

Henry knew the timing was not right.

Several days after - after the memorial for the lost schoolchildren - he contemplated pulling her aside and finally telling her. What better time - after all - when a reminder that life was precious was so needed in their lives? The sight of her mourning garb galled him into silence. He could not in good conscious talk of feelings to a woman who was under order by society to think of nothing but her lost husband. She had become a wave in the great sea of black that had overtaken London, and even though the rituals were nowhere near as rigid as they had been before the war, Eliza was still obligated to fall in line, lest her reputation fall any further into disrepair.

Out of consideration, Henry decided that he would drop the subject from his mind entirely. After all, people's minds always tended to get thrown into chaos when a real threat was imminent. All those thoughts of longing to be able to tell her lest he never see her again was pure foolishness borne of panic. Life would go on as it always had, without any further threat to his sacred bachelorhood.

It was better this way.

**11 November 1918**

Eliza awoke, and - as she had been doing since spring of that year - gave a prayer of thanks that she woke in good health - many people her age were not experiencing that luxury. Her sister-in-law was off in the countryside in a convalesance home, recovering from a nearly fatal bout of The Spanish Flu, and Eliza felt her absence keenly. Clara had very much been a comfort to Eliza for nearly five years - she was never dreary or defeated, and refused to let Eliza be either. The poor girl had continued to be a nurse at the start of the first outbreak, and had insisted on staying on, even as the death toll started to rise. Eliza was beginning to believe that Clara was simply made of sterner stuff - that was until she had returned home completely run down, and not in the way that long hours at work runs one down. She immediately sent her house mates away, and phoned Eliza to tell her that she would not be visiting for some time, and urged her not to come to the flat to see her back to health. Fear for Jack was the only thing that made Eliza obey this request.

Amazingly, Mrs. Pryce had caught wind that her only surviving child was gravely ill, and had made haste to her side. It had been established that the old generally had nothing to fear of this mysterious plague that preyed primarily on the young and strong. It had been a long time since Eliza had even considered that the old woman posessed a beating heart, and upon learning that she did indeed, and that it still bled for her children - well, Eliza could have been knocked over with a feather. It did not change the fact that Eliza did not care to ever speak with the woman again, and she doubted that Clara would have allowed herself to be nursed back to health by her mother, had she been possessing of enough wits to refuse.

The important thing was that Clara would live, and that Jack would still have someone from his father's side of the family to remind him of where he came from.

Jack - at two years and nearly two months old - was the very image of his departed father, with delicate traces of Eliza in the dramatic sweep of his thick, dark eyebrows, the generous shape of his lips, and the slight in his black hair. His eyes had done what everyone suspected they would do, and had turned a piercing grey color, fringed with dark, curling lashes. He was very much a beautiful boy, and Eliza hoped that someday he would inherit some of his father's sweetness to match his striking good looks.

That day could not come soon enough, Eliza thought to herself, as she struggled to dress her imperious, wriggling toddler. Unfortunately, his disposition matched Professor Higgins's to the letter, which was no surprise. The child idolized Higgins, and had become the man's shadow the moment he learned how to walk.

"Hold still, Jack!" Eliza scolded softly as she attempted to pull a jumper over his head.

"No!" Her son cried, before freeing himself from her grasp and running into the corridor. Eliza gave chase, and breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped into the corridor in time to witness Professor Higgins making a deft retrieval of Jack before the boy could reach the stairs.

"Here now - what's all this commotion, and why are you only in your nappies, young man?"

Jack ceased his squirming immediately when he realized who had caught him. "Mean Mummy!" He complained to his confidante.

Eliza rolled her eyes as Professor Higgins brought her son back to the child's room. "Is that so; what tortures has she wrought upon you, then?"

"No jumper!" Jack pointed a chubby forefinger at the discarded clothing on the floor.

"I think it's a perfectly good jumper, young Jack. I was just thinking of having your mother knit me up one in that very pattern."

Eliza snorted in a very unladylike manner, but tried to keep herself in check as the professor attempted to reason with her child. Jack appeared to be contemplating Henry's words, although Eliza was sure he had only comprehended 'Good' and 'Jumper'. The toddler widened his eyes, and attempted to stick a thumb into his mouth, but Henry blocked the manuever. "You do not want to have teeth like your Grandfather Alfred," he warned.

"I get dressed, Mummy." Jack's announcement was made in a royal sort of tone, as though an entire populace had been awaiting his decision. Eliza smiled at the professor as she took her son from him. She mouthed a 'thank you', and could have sworn the professor had blushed slightly before he turned and left them alone in the room.

A noticeable change had come over Professor Higgins in the past few years, Eliza thought. She imagined he was just trying very hard to cope with being stuck in a house with a small child and herself, and being his usual acerbic self had grown tiresome after a while. She supposed that he did not have to pretend to be so attached to her son in order to make life easier, but it was touching to see Jack with a father-figure, even if it would not last. The flat above the flower shop had been vacant for some time, and Eliza planned on re-establishing herself there, once the war was over. It would be insupportable for her to remain under the patronage of Professor Higgins' mother, and unforgivable. Eliza imagined that the professor would be more than happy to have her gone from his life, for him to be able to return to his solitude and his words.

Still, the kindness he had bestowed on her son, and the new - gentle? - attitude he had shown her was endearing. It had to be a front, though, and Eliza could not bear the thought of him feeling that he could not be true to himself - even if his true self was a touch unpleasant and cruel at times.

It would be better this way.

Eliza headed downstairs, with a fully dressed Jack. She would broach the subject of taking up the old flat at some point during the morning, when the opportunity presented itself.

The opportunity failed to show at breakfast. Jack was relentlessly talkative, and more than a little disruptive. However, her resolve to branch out on her own was only strengthened by the fact that she was the one of the only people at the table trying to curb Jack's behavior. Mrs. Higgins was ever the indulgent surrogate grandmother and rather encouraging, and Pickering was blissfully ignorant, and reading his newspaper, occasionally making such statements like 'What spirit!' and 'Well, I'll be dashed!'. Professor Higgins successfully managed to give the boy a few stern looks that seemed to work, until Jack took to mimicking him. Soon after, Pickering and Higgins set off for the munitions factory for the day.

Eliza decided to try again at the edge of the morning, after she had set Jack down for a nap. Eleanor was sitting in the study, going over accounts.

"Eliza, whatever is the matter, my girl? You look positively forlorn!" It was true. Eliza knew that Eleanor would be upset when she heard the news, the older woman was so attached to Jack. He was the grandson that her own son would probably never give her.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of jubilant cries in the street had filled the room, alarming the two women.

"What on earth?"

Pickering and Henry suddenly burst into the study. Eliza could not recall ever seeing the pair look so jubilant, not since her breakthrough all those years ago, when she had finally spoken correctly. Pickering boldly strode up to Eleanor, helped to astonished woman to her feet, and then pulled her into an embrace, swinging her full circle.

"The armistice has been signed!" He cried. Professor Higgins looked like he was about to attempt a similiar manuever with Eliza, but stopped short, as though remembering himself. The pair smiled at each other, Eliza's heart hammering in her chest with joy at the news. The war was over. Impulsively, she embraced Professor Higgins, who initially tensed at the unexpected contact. Eliza started to pull away when she thought that the gesture had been unwelcome, her cheeks burning with shame at her forwardness. Astonishingly, he tightened the embrace for a long moment before releasing her.

They stood slightly apart, studying each other with the most curious expressions on their faces. Eliza was bewildered at the thoughts racing through her brain, and the warmth that had overcome her entire being. Professor Higgins looked apprehensive, and on the verge of saying something about it.

Jack had woken from his nap, brought to consciousness by the commotion in the streets. He cried desperately for his mother, his gran (Eleanor), Pickering, his Aunt Clara or anyone who would listen to his pleas for attention. Eliza turned away from Henry, and exited the room, thanking providence that her son was a light sleeper, and a convenient escape from a moment she did not quite comprehend.

The family all decided to venture out of doors, and join the celebration that seemed to escalate with every minute that passed. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of the marches in the street, at the fireworks, and the noise - his weariness soon started to fade in the face of such jubilation, and disappeared entirely when his Uncle Henry allowed him to sit upon the older man's shoulder. The boy giggled, and clapped, delighting some of the surrounding crowd.

Eliza felt a tinge of sadness at the sight. It would have been nice to have Freddy there with them, to celebrate, and to be commended for his service. Surprisingly, the sadness did not linger as it once had. While she did still mourn his loss for the fact that he was her son's father, and far too young to die, it had been a long time since she had yearned for him in that aching way that one yearns for a lost love. Curious, and a bit shameful when she dwelled on the fact.

A raven-haired young woman of about twenty-five pushed through the crowd, and Eliza watched as the woman spotted Professor Higgins. A mischevious smirk played across the girl's pretty features, and she walked over to where he stood, pointedly ignoring Eliza.

"'Ere's an 'andsome old thing!" The girl exclaimed, before standing on her tiptoes, and kissing him full on the mouth for a very long moment. Eliza frowned, and suddenly she felt quite put out at the woman's impertinence.

"Bugger off, dearie, 'e don't want none of you!" She found herself shouting at the girl.

The dark-haired girl gave Eliza a cheeky grin. "Sorry, love - I guess I got carried away - e's all yours!" With a flirty wave, she was off to find the next unsuspecting gentlemen.

"Oh, pray don't look so pleased with yourself, Professor - look! - She seems to be getting all that she can out of today." Eliza pointed at the woman, who was now in a passionate embrace with a younger, slightly more dashing man.

"Pleased with myself? I beg to differ, Eliza - the woman attacked me!" Henry protested, secretly pleased with her burst of temper. A part of him hoped that it was jealousy he was witnessing - until he realized that Jack was sitting on his shoulders, and Eliza was more than likely incensed at the scandalous display her son had been forced to witness. Disappointing, but then again, it did not quite explain why she would use such shocking language in front of the boy.

Nothing more was said about the incident, and the festivities continued. Eliza refused flute after flute of freely proferred champagne, sticking to her resolve to never touch a drop of alcohol. The others were not so disciplined, and Eliza soon found herself taking Jack back into the house, intent on shielding his young eyes from the revelry, followed by Eleanor who was content with one drink, and then Pickering and Professor Higgins, who were only returning to retrieve a box of very fine cigars in which they planned on sharing. They both acted decades younger than they actually were, laughing and carrying their offerings of smoke and drink outside like university boys on holiday. Eliza shook her head, hoping that they would not feel too terrible in the morning.

**12 November 1918**

Henry had never felt worse in his life. It had been many a year since he had indulged so heavily, imbibing even more than he had when Eliza had given birth to Jack. He awoke on the leather sofa in the study, his legs dangling over the sides, and a decanter clutched to his chest. Pickering was snoring away in an armchair.

Head pounding, eyes bleary, and the world spinning rapidly, Henry pulled himself up, and stumbled out of the study, intent on making it to his own bed - that way he could sleep off this hangover in peace, without the thought of Eliza or his mother towering over him with disapproving looks and shrill remonstrations.

Eliza - there was a poser of a problem. How would they proceed now? He had enjoyed their brief embrace on the previous day, feeling that old familiar longing come over him once more. He thought he had successfully repressed those feelings that had come at him like a train, that long ago day when he thought he had lost her in the most permanent way possible - feelings that he had long dismissed as weakness, sneering at the poor bastards that had fallen prey to them in the past.

Best not to think about that now, Henry decided. Not now, when he wanted nothing more than to duck his head into the toilet, and then sleep for days. His head barely hit the pillow before he was off to a deep and disturbed sleep.

Eliza had followed him. This time she was the pretty, shabbily dressed girl in the crowd, grinning with seductive intent as she pressed her body against his, and teased his lips with her own.

"_Here is a handsome old thing_," she whispered, deepening the kiss, urging him to open his mouth, and moaning softly as he-

Henry woke up with a start, sweat pouring down his brow, and quite unable to breath. He was not allowed to linger long on the dream he had just had before a sneezing fit overcame him. The fit was long, and so violent that it shook him to the core. When it was over, he looked down at his hand, and then gasped, touching the area beneath his nose with his forefinger, and then looking down again.

Blood.

Henry blindly reached for the rope near his bed, ringing for someone, anyone to come to his aid. He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, and his fears were confirmed.

Influenza.


	16. Come Back and Haunt Me

A Better Man

Chapter Fifteen

Come Back and Haunt Me

Author's Note: Sorry in advance for the briefness of this chapter!

* * *

><p>Henry stared at the woman sitting on the sofa in his Wimpole street study. She shivered in her crimson evening cloak, her gloved hands resting in her lap, bawled up into little fists. She would not look at him - her eyes were cast to the floor, glittering with anger. He approached her, drawn in by the elegant curve of her exposed neck, and her dark glossy ringlets, piled high on her head. An errant curl had tumbled free from its' elegant confine, and he reached out a hand - intent on placing the offending lock back into its' proper place. She turned her head so suddenly with a glare so fierce that he snatched his hand away, almost fearing that she would bite it, so vicious were her eyes.<p>

"Can you see me now, 'Enry 'Iggins?"

"I have always been able to see you perfectly well, Eliza."

The magnificent creature rose to her full height, diamonds sparkling at her ears and throat, her white gown speckled with stars.

"What do you see?" She inquired, her voice soft as a velvet glove.

"I am at a loss for words."

She gave him one of her ironic little half-smiles, gazing up at him from beneath her thick eyelashes with an almost coquettish expression. "Professor Higgins at a loss for words?"

"Only when it matters."

Tears appeared at the corners of her luminous eyes. "Then I am sad for you." With a sigh, she turned and walked out of the room.

"Wait!" She did not heed his plea, so he gave chase, finding her impossible to catch even though he was running and she was keeping an easy pace. She was going to exit his home, and wander into the fog. Already it crept through the cracks in the front door, curling and billowing about, and when Eliza opened the door, it consumed her entirely, leaving nothing behind.

Henry could do nothing but stand in the entryway, paralyzed with fear of the harshness outside, calling out her name until his voice grew so hoarse that he had to cease.

* * *

><p>Eleanor Higgins pressed a cold cloth against her son's burning forehead, and whispered soothing words in order to quiet his delirious cries.<p>

"Henry - hush, my love. Mother is here."

Her son thrashed about weakly, still whispering for Eliza in a helpless tone that caused his mother's heart to shatter.

"Eliza is not here, Henry - I had to send her away."

Henry furrowed his brow, and opened his eyes just a fraction. "Why?"

"You are ill, love - I did not want her to get ill as well... or her son."

He gasped, and then was overcome with a violent coughing fit. Eleanor acted quickly to get him turned on his side, so that he could expell the sickness without choking himself.

"I... have a son?" He asked, once the fit had passed and his was resting on his back once more. Eleanor did not know how much more she could take.

"No, darling - Eliza's son is Freddy's boy."

"Marry Freddy..." Even in his weakened state, his disgust was apparent. "Heartless..."

"Oh, my sweet boy."

"Bring her back?"

Eleanor felt the tears threaten to spill as she was faced with the proof that her son was in love with Eliza, and had been for some time. "I cannot. This flu is particularly nasty to young people, Henry - do you want Eliza to die?"

Henry whimpered, and Eleanor realized that she ought not have been so blunt. "She will return when you are well. I sent her to Wimpole Street in order to meet with Mrs. Pearce and help with hiring on new staff at your home."

Henry smiled, and closed his eyes. "That is good."

Eleanor nodded, and wiped the tears from her eyes. She fervently prayed that her son would be able to return to his home in good health, and maybe...

Well, it was not her place to reveal to Eliza what had transpired here, obviously. Hopefully, Henry would have the good sense to propose to the girl. Eleanor bite her bottom lip, apprehensively. If Henry pulled through, there was a good chance he would not remember a single thing - even if these were his private, innermost thoughts. Still... she could not reveal anything. She could prod things along, however...

If only he would live. His fever was spiking dramatically, and it had become far too dangerous to move him to hospital. The family doctor had yet to show, being busy with other housecalls due to this new wave of illness. Eleanor still remembered Eliza's stricken face when she had been informed of Henry falling ill.

_"He's just had too much too drink, Mrs. Higgins!"_ The girl had tried to reason, unable to accept that her mentor was most likely at Death's door. Eliza had initially refused to leave the house, wanting to stay and utilize her nursing experience. Eleanor had refused her help emphatically. They could not risk Jack becoming an orphan, it would be too tragic. Henry, despite his delirious demands for Eliza's presence, would not want her there had he the mental faculties to process the risk - therefore, Eliza, Jack and Colonel Pickering were sent away to open up the house on Wimpole street. Eleanor had hoped the task would distract Eliza; however, the girl had been calling relentlessly, inquiring after Henry's condition, sounding as though she would shatter everytime Eleanor gave her a grave report.

Surely Henry's regard was reciprocated - it was not a completely unrealistic thought. Eliza had been a widow for over two years, and had been a part of Henry's world for longer than that. The timing was right - Eleanor determined - and the match was a fine one. She could not think of a couple that knew each better than her Henry and Eliza, and - what was more - she could not think of a single woman who would tolerate her son the way Eliza did.

"You must live for Eliza's sake, dearest."

* * *

><p>"Professor?" A feminine voice caressed his ears, and he turned in time to see her standing before him in wedding finery. They standing in the front of a church, every inch of the interior covered with a thick layer of dust, and empty except for the two of them.<p>

"Are you marrying Freddy?"

She smiled. "I already did... do you not remember?"

"Then what are we doing here, pray?"

"That is precisely what I am doing for you."

"In a wedding gown?"

Eliza gave a short laugh. "This is how you wanted me to appear."

"Ridiculous. I am a con-"

"'Confirmed old bachelor', yes, I know."

"So, why would I want you to appear thusly?"

Eliza responded by pressing her lips against his own, in a brief, chaste caress. It was like being touched by a butterfly. "That is something I cannot answer for you, Professor." She turned away from him, intent on leaving once more.

"Please do not do that again!" He cried. She turned back, astonished.

"Kiss you?"

"No- leave."

"You know where to find me, Professor. I will be waiting."

She was gone, once more.

* * *

><p>Two days after Henry had fallen ill, Eliza eyed the telephone - distractedly - as Mrs. Pearce fussed over Jack while sitting on the sofa in Henry's study. The older woman had managed to be a nurse in a field hospital during the war, but was only too happy to return to Wimpole street, where she had been employed since Professor Higgins had branched out on his own as a young man. The sight of a small child in the professor's decidedly bachelor abode was astonishing, and quite welcoming. Truth be told, it was a sight Mrs. Pearce confessed to never dreaming to see.<p>

"It is only temporary, Mrs. Pearce. I will stay long enough to help Professor Higgins re-establish his household, and then I will return to the flat above my shop."

"Oh, do not be silly, I am sure the professor would love to have you stay on. He can scarcely find North without your guidance." The last bit was added in a low, secretive voice. Eliza smiled weakly, and then looked to the telephone once more. The older woman clucked sympathetically. "Professor Higgins posesses a fine constitution. I am sure he will be back to his old self in no time at all."

"I wish I could be there to help."

"Well, I do not! Good heavens, girl - that sickness could fell you in an instant, and then where would we all be?"

"I imagine you are right."

"And I won't have anymore nonsense about you living in that shabby little flat, either."

Eliza glared. "I daresay I will live where I like."

Mrs. Pearce stood up, with Jack still in her arms. "I daresay you will, girl."

"Jack seems to find no shortage of doting admirers," Eliza remarked, changing the subject.

Mrs. Pearce beamed at the remark, and kissed the boy in question on the cheek. "He is as fine a boy as one could ever wish for, Eliza. You must be quite proud."

"Terribly, even if he can be a perfect beast - he seems to be putting on his Sunday manners for you, though."

"I simply know how to deal with difficult youngsters. I was the oldest child in a family of eight, and then only girl."

Eliza's eyes widened. "Perhaps I should hire you on as Jack's nanny and let _him_ find a new housekeeper."

"The professor would never forgive such a thing, if you did!" Mrs. Pearce replied, laughing at the absurdity of it.

The phone rang. Eliza sprang from the sofa and had the receiver to her ear within moments. There was a long terrible silence, in which Eliza just listened to the person at the other end. Finally, she hung up, and looked to Mrs. Pearce, tears shining in her eyes.

"His fever broke."


	17. Possession

A Better Man

Chapter Sixteen

Possession

* * *

><p>The last thing Henry remembered before waking up had been dragging himself to bed, hung over - so it was very shocking when his eyes came in to focus, only to behold the tired and stricken face of his mother.<p>

"Really, Mother - you needn't faun over me, I just had too many spirits."

His skin fairly crawled with discomfort when she began to weep. Henry had never done well with hysterical women - either he could not come up with a single word of comfort, or his attempts failed disasterously.

"You have been unconscious for nearly three days, Henry - I thought you were going to die!"

"Die?" He suddenly recalled the blood and his fevered brow. "Was I very ill?" He suddenly wanted very much to sit up and take his mother into his arms to comfort her, but the effort seemed as though it would be supremely monumental - he barely had strength enough to move a hand to cover hers and squeeze.

Eleanor nodded. "We were preparing for the won't remember, but I had Eliza, Colonel Pickering, and Jack sent away to Wimpole Street - Eliza is re-establishing your household.'

"She is not..." Henry's voice trailed off; it was hard to even think about Eliza being ill, let alone put it into words. The idea that this merciless strain of influenza only seemed to kill off the young and healthy had kept Henry in constant fear for his young friend's life.

"'Eliza is very well - as are Colonel Pickering and Jack."

Henry sighed in relief. "That is a mercy." He looked around the room, and then at his mother. "Well, I think I have lazed about long enough; I should like to go home."

Eleanor frowned. "You will have to 'laze about' a bit longer, my dear boy. You are far too weak to be moved just yet."

"Come now, Mother, I very much would like to see-"

"-Eliza?" Eleanor suggested, more than a bit mischeviously.

"My house. I need to ensure that the girl isn't making a complete botch out of hiring servants."

Eleanor let a brief look of disappointment pass over her features for a moment. "You needn't, Henry; Eliza has Mrs. Pearce to help her with the particulars."

"Oh- has she? Well, that's a comfort, I suppose. Mrs. Pearce is damned fine housekeeper."

Eleanor suppressed the urge to throw breakable objects at her recovering son, and smiled, nodding in agreement.

"Tell Eliza that she may pick any room she likes for Jack. I daresay she can even fashion a nursery if she pleases - the house is certainly large enough," Henry added, magnanimously, and then frowned when his mother gasped. "What on earth is the matter with that?"

"Henry - Eliza couldn't possibly live with you."

Her son's face suddenly took on a look that had signified a tempest ever since he was a small child. Eleanor steeled herself, and prepared for battle against his furrowed brow, and the firm set in his jaw.

"Why not?"

"My dear, it simply is not done!"

"She lived with me before and no one said 'boo' about it.'

Eleanor sighed impatiently. "She was your pupil then, Henry. Eliza needs to have some sort of proper reason to live in your house in order for people not to talk... which they already do."

"Hang those gossips - the world has changed, Mother."

"Not really, my boy. People are clamoring for a return to a normal sort of existence, and that includes looking down their noses at a situation that strikes them as unsavory."

Henry merely shrugged, and settled back against his pillows. "It just so happens that I do have a proper reason for Eliza to stay."

Eleanor's eyes widened, and she was unable to supress a curious little smile. "Oh?"

"Well, I shan't reveal it now. The matter requires a good amount of thought, and I'm devilishly sleepy."

Eleanor stood up, now grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, Henry!"

"Mother, please." Henry gave a tremendous yawn and closed his eyes, ending discussion on the subject.

* * *

><p>Eliza scribbled away at the ledgers, finding herself to be oddly comfortable at Henry's desk, in his chair. Jack was toddling about, tailed by Mrs. Pearce and her granddaughter, Rosemary - a comely girl of sixteen whom Eliza had taken on as Jack's nanny-in-training and a part-time personal assistant.<p>

"Professor Higgins will simply have to do with a smaller staff until more people are well again," Eliza announced, frowning at the small pile of letters to her right. Not many answers to her inquiry, and even fewer that qualified. Getting Mrs. Pearce back had been a godsend, and at least she had managed to find a suitable butler and cook.

"I daresay we can manage; so long as Professor Higgins is fed and can keep track of his appointments, he will be content."

"Do you suppose I ought to inquire about a secretary?"

Mrs. Pearce scooped Jack into her arms, and handed him off to Rosemary, who carried him out of the room intent on settling him down for a nap.

"My dear, isn't that what you are?"

Eliza chuckled. "I am afraid I can't juggle the flower shop and fetching Professor Higgin's slippers. You do not mind my taking Rosemary on as an assistant, do you, Mrs. Pearce?"

"Heavens no! That silly little thing will have to learn how to earn her keep somewhere. Do not be too soft on her - Eliza - or she'll walk all over you.'

"Oh, somehow I doubt that. She's a sweet sort of girl, and is in more danger of my son walking all over her."

"He is a bit of a handful."

"Professor Higgins' influence, I am afraid," Eliza replied with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh?" Mrs. Pearce's curious look told Eliza that the idea of Professor Higgins paying attention to a child enough to mold one's personality was shocking.

"Yes, Jack is practically his little shadow it seems, and the Professor is amazingly tolerant." Eliza chuckled softly and added, 'He must be mellowing out in his old age."

The two women's shared laughter was interrupted by a cough coming from the entrance to the study. They turned in unison, and Eliza colored deeply when she beheld Professor Higgins. He was a little worn about the face, but still appeared in remarkable health, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Old, am I?" His tone was light, but Eliza detected a bit of hurt in his voice, and from the way he proudly tilted his chin.

"Professor, you look very..." Eliza trailed off, at a loss for words when the realization that he was alive and well finally hit her.

"Decrepit? Ancient?"

"Well - you look very well."

Henry felt himself grow warm at the sight of her breathtaking smile. He cleared his throat, and decided to get at the task at hand.

"Oh - well, thank you, Eliza. Mrs. Pearce - would you mind terribly if I asked you to go away for a moment? I have a matter to discuss with Eliza."

The older woman's face went from puzzlement to giddy comprehension in seconds, and she left the room hurriedly, and with a distinct blush.

"Confounded women - why are they all acting so bizarre today? No matter." Henry pulled a chair up next to Eliza and sat down, their knees close enough to nearly touch. Eliza unconsciously tilted hers slightly to one side, as though to give a bit more distance between the two of them. "Eliza, I should like for you and Jack to move in to Wimpole street."

Eliza blinked, and opened her mouth to begin a reply, found herself unable to find proper words and promptly closed it once more.

"You are at loss for words."

"Obviously."

"Why?"

Eliza gave him her most patient-yet-bewildered smile, and shook her head. "How would that be proper?"

Henry studied his fingernails for a moment; after finding them to be slightly stained with ink, and a bit unkempt in general, he meet Eliza's inquisitive gaze. "How? Well, the most logical way possible, Eliza."

Eliza's heart began to pound, and for a moment she forgot how to breath. She tried not to look too coy as she bit her lower lip, and her hands trembled in her lap. It occured to her that it was the most logical way; after all, such a thing would be accepted without question. She had mourned Freddy, and society had since eased up on the acceptable length of said mourning for the women of England... perhaps even the world. She was unable to suppress a shuddering sigh, nor push back the tears that threatened to fall. She wanted this - him - with a violence that tore through her entire being... perhaps she had for some time. How blind she had been to realize that he may have wanted it too!

"Henry..." The name wavered unsteadily on her lips before she breathed it out into the world like a song.

"Pardon?"

The slightly panicked tone in his voice brought Eliza crashing back to earth.

"Is it... it it not proper that I use your given name in such a circumstance?"

"Why in heaven's name would you do that? I am sure you have heard Mrs. Pearce call me 'Sir'. I would never ask you to be that formal- of course - 'Professor Higgins' has always been more than appropriate."

"Oh." Eliza had never felt more humiliated in her life, and found herself inwardly praying that the world and all of its inhabitants would disappear in a wisp of smoke, leaving her to be alone with her shame.

"You could stay on as a secretary of sorts, Eliza. You know how dreadful I am at keeping track of appointments, and all other manner of things. It is actually a bit humbling - admitting to all that- but surely it tells you how desperately I need to have you about."

Years of fetching slippers, organizing mountains of paperwork, putting up with tempers, and soothing said tempers with tea made just-so stretched out before her, and she finally came to the realization that if she were to find a life of fulfillment tempered with mutual admiration, she was woefully misguided if she thought she would be able to find it _here._

"I cannot."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am afraid I cannot stay on at Wimpole Street, Professor Higgins."

Henry sat back in his seat so suddenly that it almost appeared an act of violence.

"What do you mean 'you cannot'?"

"Pray don't be thick - Professor - you know exactly what it means. Thank you, ever so much for the offer to become your servant -"

"Secretary!"

"- but I've a business of my own that needs my attention once more, and that business has a perfectly suitable flat above it -"

"-The idea of my godson in that wretched little hole in the wall -"

" - and Jack and I will be moving our things to that residence within the fortnight."

"Oh, will you now?"

Eliza jumped from her seat, and stood straight as a ramrod, vehement pride seething from every pore. "Absolutely I will. I do not like your tone, Professor Higgins - it strongly insinuates that you feel well within your right to stop me, and you should not."

Henry stood then, towering over Eliza, and standing ever-so-close. His eyes were dark.

"I suppose I cannot - Eliza - but what I can do is make my displeasure at the idea known; I think you are a prideful, stubborn fool - something that I think will not help you, or your child at all. Clinging on to this conceited sort of independence will not put Jack in a good school, or even keep him fed -" He got no further before the resounding crack of her palm against his cheek filled the room. They both stared at each other when it was over; Henry's eyes blank as he placed a hand on his stinging cheek, and Eliza's eyes wild with anger, her nostrils flaring slighlty and her lips pressed together in a painfully thin line. Her ragged breathing filled the air, as did his oddly even inhaling and exhaling. Wordlessly, Eliza breezed out of his study, and he vaguely heard her voice in the next room over, shakily requesting that her son be retrieved from his nap.

A few minutes later, the gentle 'click' of the door closing heralded Eliza fleeing from Henry's life once more.

This time he could not bring himself to turn on the phonograph.


	18. Growing Up

A Better Man

Chapter Seventeen

Growning Up

* * *

><p><strong>September 1921<strong>

Jack Eynsford-Hill blew out the candles of his birthday cake, feeling a rush of pride when the grown-ups cheered him on from the parlour of his Gran's house. He magnanimously allowed his mother, his Gran, his Aunt Clara, Rosemary, and Mrs. Pearce to bestow kisses on his cheek, and felt quite grown up when Grandfather Pickering and Uncle Henry gave him a congratulatory clap on the back. Jack knew quite a few things for certain at his vast age of five years; His mother was the most beautiful woman on earth, although his Aunt Clara wore the prettier clothes, had the most interesting hair, and was certainly the nicest. His mother sometimes got cross, and Aunt Clara never did. In fact, his mother had gotten _very _cross when she came upstairs from the shop one night to find Aunt Clara, Aunt Clara's beau, and Jack painting a landscape on the southern most wall in his mother's drawing room.

Another thing that Jack knew for certain, was that his Uncle Henry and his mother did not get on. It caused immense sadness in him, because they were both his most favorite people in the entire world. Uncle Henry was so smart, and was always trying to explain great complicated things to Jack which he could not comprehend, but thought it made his uncle look very grand indeed. He also allowed Mrs. Pearce to give Jack sweets whenever the boy requested it.

His mother did not seem to think Uncle Henry was so grand. When Jack would come home with reports of his afternoon with his uncle, his mother would roll her eyes, particularly when Jack relayed a chestnut of wisdom that Uncle Henry had bestowed upon him. When Jack would use language and just generally emulate his uncle's behavior, his mother would berate him soundly. She told him that Uncle Henry was a fool, and to not take the old goat so seriously. Jack did not like it when his mother called Uncle Henry names, or when she would act coolly to him when they were all together in the same room.

Uncle Henry never seemed to answer back to her - though - and Jack often wondered at the sad expression he often saw on his uncle's face when his mother was present. She did not seem to notice his sadness, and Jack was not sure if she would care. It was most distressing.

The generous pile of presents pulled Jack from his train of thought, and for the next ten minutes all he knew was bright wrapping paper, and childhood delight.

Henry found himself watching Eliza, as she beamed at her son with unguarded delight shining in her face. It was rare that he got to witness such a treat, and it was certainly never directed at himself. The gulf that had opened between them that fateful day after his recovery stretched for what seemed to be thousands of miles. He had been too mortified to pursue her in order to apologize. His mother had shown up at his doorstep mere hours later, unable to suppress her fury at Henry.

_"What have you done?" _

_"Mother..." _Henry trailed off, galled into silence by the the irrate woman as she sat down on the sofa in his drawing room, seething with anger.

_"You've made a botch of things with Eliza, as usual, and I demand to know what happened!"_

Henry walked across the room so that he towered over where his mother sat, glowering down at her.

_"What has that baggage told you?"_

_"She told me nothing, Henry! She returned to my house fighting tears, and immediately packed her bags, and arranged for the rest of her things to be sent to her flat. Now, I was under the impression that you were going to propose marriage to Eliza-"_

_"What?"_

_"Do not say 'What?' - Henry - say 'Pardon'."_

_"I will say what I jolly well like, I am a grown man after all!"_

_"Evidently not when it comes to her; Henry, does everyone know that you are in love with her but you?"_

Henry was speechless. His heart lurched painfully in his chest, filled with a fear he had not experienced for decades, the last time being when he had been sent home from school for fighting when he was ten years old; a fear specific to when one knows one is caught.

_"I asked her to by my secretary. It did not go well."_

_"'Secretary'? That was your plan to keep her?"_

Henry did not answer. There had been moments when he had entertained the thought of solving the problem of Eliza with marriage. He thought on that the time before, when he thought her dead, and wanting nothing more than to express his wild joy when she wasn't by pulling her into his arms and kissing her, or by demanding to hear his given name on his lips. He had long given up on the hope that such a thing would happen...

Good god, she had called him 'Henry'.

The realization that he had had all before him, and that he had been completely blind to it staggered him.

Surprisingly, Eliza did not cut herself off from the Higgins' household, and had begun to visit Eleanor mere weeks after her flight. Henry was allowed to be present for those visits, although it took him a long time to actually bring himself to show up. The acute pain of missing both Jack and Eliza drove him to finally lose his resolve to avoid them. A chilly Eliza was better than no Eliza at all, and Jack's regard never seemed to waver.

They had gone on in this fashion for nearly three years, and the loss seemed to never lessen for Henry. If he had been a sentimental sort, he would have confessed to be 'dying of love' for her - alas, he was not as such, and could only profess to 'miss her greatly'.

He was devilishly happy that she had not yet joined the short hair club, as Clara had done. Most people found Clara's sleek black bob to be chic, but Henry only imagined that her exposed neck must grow very cold in the winter. He recalled overhearing Clara inquire as to why Eliza would not cut her hair, and the woman had replied that she was getting far too old to be a 'bright young thing'. He certainly hoped not. It was hard to imagine hard-working, painfully prim Eliza with that set; drinking until dawn and drunkenly roaming the streets on youthful treasure hunts. She had not thrown herself into the new world as Clara had - instead she focused on her small enterprise, and her son. Henry commended her for refraining from such silliness... privately, and never directly to her, of course.

Eliza caught him staring, and his face flushed with shame as he directed his gaze to the floor. If he were to let down his guard and humble himself before her, she would surely laugh in his face. He knew he had killed any regard she held for him, and the mere fact that there had been something on her part, and that he had overlooked it entirely, caused him no end of pain.

He suddenly wished that he could excuse himself from the party and return home, where he would bury himself in his work and forget about the little guttersnipe that got away.

Eliza had felt his gaze, and turned to meet it, curious if she had some sort of flaw that was offending him. For a moment, she observed his unguarded gaze. He seemed to be off in another time and place. Surely he was too young for senility! Finally, he noticed her noticing him, and she wondered at his red cheeks, and humiliated look.

"Thank you very much for the book, Uncle Henry!" Jack's voice chimed in, holding up a copy of Alexander Meville Bell's _Sounds and Their Relations_. Eliza wrinkled her nose at the book, thinking it far too advanced for a child still in infant school. Still, Jack was thrilled with any offering from the professor, and Eliza found herself grateful for his presence in her son's life, despite everything that had gone wrong between the two of them.

"You are very welcome, Young Jack."

"What a dry sort of gift, Higgins! Don't you know little boys want train sets, not phonetics books?" Pickering inquired, waving a hand at still-packaged model train set he had purchased for the boy.

"I like trains and learning, Granddad," Jack replied gravely. Eliza smiled fondly, pleased that her son had matured into a thoughtful young man, mindful of the feelings of others. There were times when he was so much like his father, that Eliza would have to excuse herself from his presence in order to weep silently, and alone.

"You show very good sense, my boy,"Pickering complimented.

The party died down shortly after dinner, and Eliza took a sleepy Jack back to the flat. On the way there, she wondered that no other children from school had come to the party. It seemed strange.

"It is a shame none of your friends were able to attend, darling."

Jack did not answer as they walked hand-in-hand, and the implication weighed in heavily. Eliza feared that the old rumours had followed her son into the schoolyard, and he was being ostracized for it. While her flower shop was figuratively blossoming, she could sense the judgement in each and every one of her patrons of the middle class persuasion.

"I am so sorry, my love. Perhaps next year -"

"I did not give out the invitations - I chucked them in the dustbin," Jack confessed.

"Whatever for?"

"I don't want any of them at my party. They said horrid things about you, Mum."

"Even Piers Stone?"

"He's a dullard."

No more was said on the subject of Jack's show of loyalty.


	19. Buy a Flower?

**A Better Man**

**Chapter Eighteen:**

**Buy a Flower?**

* * *

><p>"Darling, those buttonholes are lovely - but I think they are just a little too large, don't you?" Eliza inquired of Jack, silently thanking providence for being blessed with such an industrious child.<p>

"They are for large men, Mummy."

Eliza's eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline, as she choked out an astonished, "Oh?".

Jack nodded, and then sighed impatiently when she offered no other reply. "They won't feel so fat if the buttonholes are a little bigger."

Eliza bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Jack was being quite serious, and she did not want to bruise his sensitive feelings.

"How wonderful, my love! Just make sure to make a few smaller ones for the not-so-large men."

"Yes, Mummy."

"Mrs. Hill?" Eliza turned her attention away from Jack's workspace to one of her regular customers. He was a slim and tall young man of about twenty-five - rare nowadays - with a shock of white-blond hair, fair skin, and brilliant green eyes. He walked with a slight limp, wearing gloves at all times. Eliza supposed that it was in effort to cover chemical burns, as his complexion was slightly marred by tell-tale pock-marks.

"How do you do, Mr. Elton?" She greeted warmly. He frequented the shop quite often- moreso than most, actually - and her heart went out to him, for she was sure he was in ardent pursuit of a ladylove. She had quite forgotten what it was like to be courted, but it was quite nice to live vicariously through the various swains who cluelessly wandered into her shop, asking for advice on the best bouquets, or corsages. It seemed most of her customers were male, come to think of it. Odd, considering how the woman vastly outnumbered them.

"Oh, f-fine, M-mrs. H-hill," Mr. Elton stammered. Eliza's smiled sadly. It could not be easy, wooing someone when words were so painful to formulate.

"How may I help you, today?"

"I, nuh-need a c-corsage - or-orchids... " He struggled over a mighty plosive before managing to specify that the bloom should be pink.

"Of course, Mr. Elton - one moment, please."

Eliza went to the workspace, working diligently on the request. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and stood on end; she threw a glance over her shoulder to discover Mr. Elton, staring intently at her as she worked. She suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. She finished, hurriedly, and took the corsage to the front of the store, where Mr. Elton stood.

"Here you are, Mr. Elton." The transaction was made, but the young man continued to stand in front of the counter. "Mr. Elton?"

It happened so fast that Eliza scarcely had time to react. The young man leaned forward, and with a sharp stab of pain on the left side of her chest, Eliza realized that the boy had pinned to corsage to her blouse. She yelped in pain, which made Mr. Elton jump back, startled and red-faced.

"What on earth?" Eliza cried, unsticking the corsage from her person and dropping it onto the counter as though it were some sort of pest or vermin.

"F-f-forgive..." Mr. Elton trailed off, unable to continue. He fled the store, shamefaced, nearly bowling over Clara in the process as she entered.

"There's an odd duck," Clara remarked, nearly unruffled by the incident. She grinned at Eliza, and waved at Jack, who had been too intent on his project to notice the whole thing. "Was that one of your suitors, Eliza?"

Eliza's jaw dropped. "My suitors?"

"Oh, yes. You know - one of those boys that only buy flowers from here in order to be near you?"

Now Eliza was blushing. "That is so untrue, Clara!"

Clara shrugged as she bent over to kiss the top of Jack's dark head.

"I know more people than you, darling, and the men of my acquaintance are always so curious about my 'damned lovely widow of a sister-in-law'. I tell them that you are quite content to have nothing to do with them, whatsover, but they still insist on queuing up."

"Who said I wanted nothing to do with them?" Eliza inquired, feeling a stab of annoyance.

"Oh, no one, darling. I am just trying to give that handsome, older professor a sporting chance. I can tell them that you've thrown off your weeds for good, if you like."

"Handsome, older professor?"

Clara nodded. "That repressed old goat is absolutely dying of love for you, didn't you know?" The cheeky flapper plucked a red rose from one of the displays, and tucked it behind her ear. "Doesn't your Auntie look pretty, Jack?"

The young boy nodded with a shy smile.

"Clara, do not change the subject; everyone knows that Professor Higgins only puts up with me because he is fond of Jack."

"Uncle Henry likes you, Mummy - he is always looking at you," Jack chimed in.

Eliza frowned at her son and her sister-in-law; clearly, they were both touched in the head. She remembered that horrible day when she thought he may have felt something... but she had been dead wrong. She would never let her mind wander in that direction ever again.

"That is just wishful thinking on your part, Jack."

"What, Mummy?"

"You would like to be able to be around Uncle Henry all of the time, so you imagine he wants to marry me."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Could he? I would like to live in Uncle Henry's house very much - he has a library."

"Oh, yes, Eliza - a little library is always very nice!" Clara added, smirking at her sister-in-law's obvious irritation.

"I am very sorry -Jack - but I do not think that matrimony is very appealing to Uncle Henry. Clara - I've got my hands full raising one little boy, I do not need another."

Jack frowned, obviously not comprehending his mother's last statement. Clara only rolled her eyes, and waved a dismissive hand at Eliza. "You know what is best for you - dear sister - I am sure."

The ringing of a tiny bell heralded that another customer had arrived. Eliza's jaw nearly dropped to the floor when her eyes beheld Professor Higgins. He had never stepped foot in her shop since... ever.

"Speak of the devil!" Clara announced. Jack immediately ran to the older man, bearing a buttonhole (small) as a gift. Professor Higgins took the proffered present, and ruffled the boy's hair.

"I thought I felt my ears ringing - hullo, Miss Hill, always a pleasure to see your shining face before noon - now what on earth would you all be talking about?"

"Mummy said you would not like- "

"What brings you here, Professor Higgins?" Eliza interrupted her son. There was a time and a place for childlike honesty, this was not one of those times.

"Well, none of the servants can be arsed - pardon me, Jack - there is no one at Mother's house who is readily available drop of these arrangment specifications for her birthday party tomorrow." Professor Higgins thrust out his right hand, in which a piece of paper was clutched. Eliza took it, read the instructions, and smiled. "Oh, this is fairly simple - yes, I believe I can just arrive to the party early, and have them brought myself."

"Well, that is good." Henry took a quick glance around the shop. It was not much more than four very sturdy walls, but the flora and fauna made it bright and cheery. "You've done very well for yourself, Eliza," he found himself saying.

Eliza felt pleased, despite herself. "Thank you, Professor Higgins."

He looked to Jack, who was back at the worktable. "Boy, what are you doing out of school, and where is that little ninny that shadows you?"

"It's a half day, Uncle Henry - and Rosie is ill."

"I don't suppose you would like to go to the Zoo?"

Jack's eyes glowed with promise, and he turned to Eliza. "Mummy, may I?"

"Of course, darling. Thank you so very much for helping out an old woman with her flowers."

Jack giggled. "Mummy, you are not old!" He ran over to Professor Higgins's side, and took the man's hand.

The two were about to head off, when another man entered the store. This one was older than Mr. Elton, maybe slightly younger than Professor Higgins, if the wings of white in his dark hair were any indicator. He was definitely more debonair, and took great pains to always be perfectly turned out every time he appeared in Eliza's shop. His dark eyes glittered with purpose, and a tight smile graced his full lips when he spotted Eliza.

"Mrs. Hill, how well you look," he greeted in a deep, smooth voice. Professor Higgins visibly scowled, as did Jack.

"And what of your stepsister?" Clara inquired. The visitor was Mr. Linton Pryce, eldest son of Clara's mother's now deceased second husband. He was independent (and old) enough to have been detached from the scandal that Eliza had supposedly incurred by marrying his stepmother's only son. Clara intrigued him - as far as stepsister's went - so the two of them maintained correspondence, and he had helped her out of a few financial scraps over the years. He had also tried to encourage Clara to patch things up with her mother - who had mellowed considerably, in his opinion - but to no avail. She refused to reconcile unless Mrs. Pryce also mended her relationship with Eliza.

"You always look smashing, Clara - however- Mrs. Hill always managed to do so without the slightest adornment."

Eliza blushed, and was suddenly conscious of the dark look on Professor Higgins's face. "Mr. Pryce, what can I do for you today?"

"Nothing of the floral nature, I assure you. I was rather hoping you would accompany me to the opera tomorrow evening."

Eliza was stunned into silence, and remained so until the loud 'bang!' of the front door brought her back. Henry and Jack were gone; Mr. Pryce and Clara were waiting patiently for a response.

"T-that is very kind - Mr. Pryce - but I am afraid that I am engaged elsewhere; a birthday dinner for a very dear friend."

"You could not throw them over this once?"

Eliza bristled. "Certainly not."

"Another time then?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Pryce."

Shortly after her refusal, he left the shop.

"Someone is quite popular," Clara announced in a sing-song voice.

"Hush."

"What will you be wearing to Mrs. Higgins's birthday? You know it has to be quite stunning, in order to show that jealous professor what he is missing."

"I am afraid I am short on 'stunning', but have more 'serviceable' clothes than I can manage."

Clara clapped her hands together. "Brilliant! Close up the shop a little early, and we will go to SoHo!"

"SoHo?" Disgust was plain on Eliza's face.

"Oh, you prude! You must know that the best, and cheapest dresses are in SoHo."

Eliza relented, but with a twinge of regret. Even in her flowergirl days, she had tried to stay away from the sin-soaked streets of that neighborhood, just as her Sunday School teacher had told her to. Clara really was the dizzy limit.

* * *

><p>Eulalie Pryce sat on a park bench, and watched as her deceased husband's grandchildren played. They were a horrible lot - whinging, screeching creatures with the manners of field hands. Not like her own children had been... well, Clara had always been a bit of a strange creature, but Freddy...<p>

She missed her sweet, thoughtful boy.

Eulalie reckoned that volunteering to spend more time with the grandchildren would ease the persistent sting in her heart, but it caused her to do nothing but compare. With one child dead, and the other not on speaking terms, Eulalie was terribly lonely.

"Uncle Henry, did you see the size of that Black Bear?" The sweet, chirping sound of a child in the distance caused Eulalie's ears to perk, and she turned towards the noise. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when her vision was filled with the sight of the sensitive features of her deceased Freddy. There were a few marked differences, but once she beheld the boy's eyes, she did not notice those. She immediately recognized the boy's chaperone as Professor Henry Higgins, son of her former best friend. That meant...

Without thinking, she rose to her feet, and walked towards the pair. The professor noticed her, and stepped in front of the boy in a protective stance.

"How do you do, Professor Higgins?" Eulalie inquired of the cautious man.

"Mrs. Pryce."

"Who is it, Uncle Henry? I can't see!" The boy stepped out from behind the professor, and scrutinized the old woman before him.

"My name is Frederick John Eynsford-Hill, ma'am - what is yours?" The child gave a little bow, and Eulalie burst into tears, much her observers' mutual mortification.

"Come along, Jack."

The pair left Eulalie to weep alone.


	20. A Party

A Better Man

Chapter Twenty

A Party

* * *

><p>"Absolutely not; I won't be seen in public in <em>that<em>."

Eyebrows shot up at Eliza's horrified comment, most notably the eclectic little designer whose shop Clara had taken the prudish woman too. All four foot and eleven inches of Elsie Hannon trembled with indignation. She may not have had a shop in a more chic district, but her patrons rarely reacted to her creations with such disgust.

"Elsie, darling - Eliza simply means that the hem is far too high for her." Clara explained, adding, "She's nearly thirty," in a conspiratorial whisper that earned a sharp look from Eliza.

"Hems are getting higher, Clara - It is simply the way things are!" Elsie explained, still irritated.

The gown was quite lovely, even Eliza could not argue with that. The underslip was made of a soft, silk-like fabric, and gold in hue, falling to about mid-calf. Over the slip was a see-through gown of black lace, embroidered in a floral pattern, with hints of metallic gold within the petals of the flowers. The neckline of the gown was boatnecked, which lent modesty to the plunging neckline of the underslip, and the sleeves were capped, leaving the arms bare, but for the black silk opera-length gloves that Elsie offered with the gown. The hem of the gown was uneven, the front falling just slightly below the hem of the slip, and the back nearly skimming the ankles. It was not the hem that caused concern for Eliza - no, she was almost sold on the creation until she chanced a look at the back. It was open straight down to the point where one's waist was at its' narrowest, right before the natural flare of ones' hips, where it was belted. The underslip had been modified to suit the cut of the gown, and the only thing Eliza could discern that held the top in place - besides the tiny, insubstantial sleeves- was a thin chain of gold running from one shoulder the the other.

"What ever would I wear underneath it?" Eliza inquired. Clara and Elsie's smothered giggled, and blushing faces provided the answer.

"Come now, Eliza - you cannot deny that it is a stunning dress."

"I cannot."

"And you have such a stunning figure - really, you could pull it off so nicely," Clara cajoled.

"So could the man she is trying to impress," Elsie added suggestively, causing Eliza's breath to catch in her throat, and her face to flare up in the most impressive blush.

"Elsie, hush! You must not embarass her so - she is not used to that sort of talk!"

This was untrue, Eliza had been subjected to 'that sort of talk' for most of her life, leading up to her transformation at the hands of Professor Higgins. However, she had never spoken thusly, even when she lacked the polish and graces that one thought of when the word 'lady' was spoken.

"I did not mean to insult your work, Miss Hannon - the gown really is stunning... absolutely gorgeous. Could you forgive an old prude?"

"Only if you purchase it, and do it justice."

"May I at least try it on first?"

Much later, Eliza was dressing in a guest room at Mrs. Higgins's home. Clara informed her that she would be getting ready at her own home, but promised to bring a guest with her to the party. Eliza supposed that it was a new beau by the mischevious way the younger girl's eyes sparkled. She sighed at the thought,and was more than a little jealous that Clara had time for such things.

Jack was being cared for by Rosemary that evening, and for the first time in a long while, Eliza allowed herself to be pampered and prepped by one of Mrs. Higgins's able maids, who happened to be adept at hair. Eliza's hair was piled artfully in a psyche knot, modernized slightly by having the front of the hair not styled out in a pompadour, but sleek and tight, with a few chic waves. A gold lame bandeau played nicely against the natural highlights in Eliza's hair, unadorned by the superfluous feathers and rhinestones that seemed signature amongst the fashionable elite nowadays.

Eliza admired herself in a full-length mirror, suprised to see the glamourous creature she had once had a nodding acquantaince with mere lifetimes ago. Being a mother and a budding entrepreneur left little room for glitz and glamour. Her clothing was never poor quality anymore, only a simple and more serviceable cut. Now, she felt as though she was ready for a night of smoke-filled rooms, and dancing, and -

She never realized how very shapely her legs were. Eliza impulsively did a conceited little twirl, and then struck a dramatic pose with one leg extended slightly, so that she could admire her nude stockings, and clever black satin heels. They were not terribly high, but the toes were dramatically pointed, and there were flirty black and gold rosettes on one side, where the straps met the buckles. The maid giggled at her vain little show, and Eliza found herself giggling as well.

"What silliness," Eliza sighed, pulling on her gloves. Her neck, earlobes, and right wrist were adorned with mock, gold painted pearls, provided by Clara. She hoped Professor Higgins would not laugh at her, or think her silly for dressing up like a silly, young thing.

Henry Higgins felt stifled in his evening coat. It was a silly birthday, after all - why did he have to torture himself so? He supposed he ought to humour his mother, she did love her fancy dress parties, especially now that the war was over and one could have them again. Still, he would have much rather come to the party in his trustworthy tweed.

Eliza was taking a devilish long time to get ready, he thought with some annoyance. Pickering had already had two pre-dinner drinks, and was talking animatedly with some of the female guests. How one be a confirmed bachelor, and still a shameless old flirt, Henry could not figure out for the life of him. The whole thing was almost -

His reverie was broken by the sight of Eliza entering the parlour, almost hesistant in her arrival, as though she had something to be ashamed of. He was suddenly aware of the fact that his drink was sloshing about in its' tumbler, due to a slight tremor in his hand. A heat rose to his cheeks, and he was positively fixated on her, all other inhabitants blurring into the background, so insignificant to him were they. She was remarkable, and not a day over nineteen in his eyes... no, that was not true. Motherhood and responsibility had lent an elegant wisdom to her form. He could not have taught and cajoled that air into her, she had done so all by herself. Suddenly, the other guests came into focus - the male ones, that is. Henry became painfully aware that he was not the only person stunned by her appearance, but he was the only one without the courage to approach her. She was soon flanked by gentlemen, like bees around the sweetest flower. He noticed his mother intervene on this possible breach of etiquette, and began introducing Eliza to them, one-by-one. All of them so's of her friends, and most of them middle-aged, with a few young ones in the mix. She greeted them all with her usual polite warmth, and suddenly her back was to Henry, and he found himself positively inflamed.

There it was. Shocking in its' nakedness, and all smooth ivory. What could she possibly be wearing beneath it? Henry nearly dropped his drink entirely when the answer came to him. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to sit down, anything to spare himself the humiliation of discovery. Not that anyone would be looking _there_ of course, how absurd! Still, he spotted the nearest armchair and sat down upon it. His pulse quickened to a dizzying pace when she approached him.

"How do you do, Professor _H_iggins?" She greeted, her tone a mockery of the way it had sounded at Ascot, even gasping out the 'H' in 'Higgins'. She was giving him an odd half-smile, expectantly waiting for him to stand and greet her.

"Eliza," he managed, but did not stand up. He fervently prayed she would accept this as one of his personality quirks and move on - she did, but not without allowing her face to flicker with disappointment. His stomach lurched with dread - he did not want her angry with him, not when...

"Hullo everyone!" Came a sing-song voice from the entrance of the parlour. All eyes flew to Clara, who arrived on the arm of none other than Linton Pryce. Clara was a vision in mauve chiffon, contrasting dramatically with her fair skin, and black hair. She wore a matching headband across her forehead, with white feathers gracing one side. She spotted Eliza immediately, and dragged Linton across the room to greet her, holding out a white gloved hand to grasp one of Eliza's, nearly pulled the two face-to-face, with herself in the middle, petite and nearly unobtrusive. Henry glowered when Clara's eyes met his, rewarding his sour countenance with a sly grin.

"Mrs. Hill, you take my breath away." Linton greeted boldly, and Henry wanted more than anything to strike the man's head against the mantle repeatedly.

"Thank you, Mr. Pryce - How do you do?"

"Fantastic, now that I am seeing you."

Henry stood up, finally able to control his 'problem'. "Excuse me, Mrs. Hill, Miss Hill, and... I am sorry, I cannot remember your name for the life of me."

"Linton Pryce."

Henry fairly grunted in response, and stormed off to his mother's side of the room.

He overheard Eliza inquire about Mr. Pryce's engagement with the opera, and rolled his eyes when the man gave his excuse in the form of another vomit-inducing compliment. Henry found himself unable to tear his eyes away from their conversation, and was pleased to see that Eliza did not seem altogether comfortable in Mr. Pryce's presence. The dinner bell interrupted all conversation, and Henry was suddenly compelled to cross the room once more and approach Eliza.

"May I?" He offered his arm, and heard Eliza's astonished gasp, even though she tried to suppress it. He watched her visible battle between the prospect of turning him down or playing nice for his mother's sake. He could read every expression that played across her fine features, and was pleased when he saw the 'playing nice' option win out before she even linked her arm in his.

"Are you cold, Professor Higgins?" Eliza asked, as they walked towards the dining room.

_Quite the opposite._ "What a notion! Why on earth would I be?"

"You are trembling, it seems."

Henry inwardly cursed his traitorous body. Everything down to her scent was enticing him that evening, it would seem. His peripheral vision caught the sight of a male guest giving Eliza's bare back an appreciative gaze, and Henry shot the man a look that was dripping with venom and reproach.

"I could ask you the same question. Were you given a discount from your seamstress for her neglect in finishing your gown?" He was rewarded with a very unladylike elbow to the ribs.

"Be quiet, or I shall walk with Mr. Pryce."

"You say that as though it were a threat."

"Is he not?"

They arrived at the table, and nothing more was said as Henry gallantly pulled a chair out for her. Once she was settled, he found himself unable to resist leaning over so that his mouth nearly brushed her earlobe. "You are playing a very dangerous game, Eliza - Mr. Pryce is a well known ladies' man, and you would do well to avoid him." His intimate tone caused a Eliza to shiver slightly, despite the fact that he was giving her a warning, and not an endearment.

Dinner went off without a hitch. The company was friendly, and engaging. Henry even managed to converse without causing insult, although he wanted to very much when he found himself talking to Linton Pryce. He hated the way the man always seemed to catch Eliza's attention with some sort of stupid anecdote, even though he noted that most of her responses seemed to be more of the polite variety.

"My mother-in-law told me that she happened upon your Professor Higgins in the park with little Jack."

Eliza's eyes widened, and she looked to Henry for confirmation. He had not told her of the encounter, believing that such news would upset her. Henry nodded at Eliza's silent query.

"How astonishing," was Eliza's reply.

"She said she was very struck by how like -... that is, she was very touched by your young boy. I believe she would like to extend an olive branch in the future."

Eliza's smile was tight, and forced. "I daresay that would surprise me greatly."

Henry spoke up. "Dreadfully sorry about not bringing it up, Eliza - I didn't think the encounter was of any consequence, nor that it beared repeating."

"You did not have a conversation with her?" Eliza inquired, her tone an edgy one.

"No, I did not. Jack and I had a very busy schedule that day, and I did not want to deviate from it." Her expression softened, and Henry was relieved to note that she did not bear any anger towards him for the omission. That was a mercy.

After dinner, the men all retreated to the study for cigars and brandy.

"That young widow is quite fetching, what was her name? Mrs. Hill?"

"Yes, she is my mother-in-law's daughter-in-law. I have been trying to court her for ages... damned pretty thing."

Henry felt his anger rise at Linton Pryce's admission. However, it was nothing in comparison to what was said next.

"What say you, Higgins? I heard a rumour that you've sampled a bit of her. I am sure that frock brought back some fond memories." A man - younger than Eliza, enough to the point where he had been too young to serve in the Great War, and far into his cups to boot -. was the one who made the bold statement. "I could just imagine what I would see if I unlatched that clever little chain on the back of the thing and -"

Henry had not engaged in fisticuffs since his schoolyard days, but he did not hesitate to bring his fist against the boy's face, slamming it against his fine nose. Years of reserve, and longing came bubbling forth in a hot rage, roaring like a freight train in his ears, causing his vision to go red. He was suddenly held back by a strong grip on each arm.

"Steady, old man!" Pickering urged. Suprisingly, the other man holding him back was Linton Pryce.

"Get him out of my mother's house!" Henry raged. Two men of the boy's acquaintance rushed forward, and assisted their wounded friend to his feet, ushering him from Henry's presence. The room was deadly quiet until Eleanor Higgins came rushing in, followed by several curious ladies, one of which was Eliza.

"What on earth is going on in my home?" Eleanor demanded. "Why is William Perry being dragged from here with a bloodied nose like this is some sort of cheap pub?"

Henry found himself unable to make eye contact with his mother, and the confused look upon Eliza's face caused him to flush with shame, and suddenly he was quite sober.

"I-..." He could not finish his sentence. Wordlessly he fled, followed closely by Colonel Pickering, who was similiarly tight-lipped about the incident. The rest of the men could only cough nervously, and avoid eye contact with the ladies.

"I never!" Eleanor huffed, slamming the door shut on the study, and effectively ending her birthday party.


	21. Walking After You

A Better Man

Chapter Twenty-One

Walking After You

* * *

><p>Eliza arrived home a few hours after Jack's bedtime. She had rather hoped that the night would have lasted longer, but the strange row at Mrs. Higgins's birthday party had brought the festivities to a screeching halt. None of the men were willing to discuss what had happened, although Clara promised to get something out of Linton eventually. Eliza believed it - Clara was a persistent busybody when she wanted to be in the know. Eliza also suspected that Mrs. Higgins would be conducting an investigation of her own, once she got a hold of Professor Higgins.<p>

He had looked so strange when Eliza saw him! Such an expression of unrestrained wildness, as absurd as it sounded - this was not a banging-his-head-against-a-tree-Heathcliff she was dealing with, after all. What the devil had sparked it all?

Her reverie was broken by the sight of Jack, slumbering sweetly in his little bed. The fire had begun to ebb in the fireplace, so Eliza crossed the room to put on another small log, and stoke it. The flat was growing more and more drafty as the days shortened, and Eliza was reminded that she ought to find better lodgings, now that things were beginning to stabilize financially. Jack needed a bigger room, and Eliza longed for a nice study, or perhaps a small library.

"Mummy?" Her son's groggy voice pulled her to his bedside, smoothing his rumpled locks with a gloved hand.

"I am here, darling."

Jack rubbed his eyes, and then rewarded her with a sleep-soaked smile. "You look like a queen."

"Thank you, my little prince. Were you on your best behavior for Rosie?"

Jack nodded. "Oh, yes; I let her beat me at chess. She's very bad at it, you know."

Eliza covered her mouth to supress a grin. "Perhaps you didn't let her win - perhaps she bested you."

Jack furrowed his brow, as though thinking hard over how absurd his mother's statement was. He shrugged it off and asked, "Was Uncle Henry at the party?"

Eliza nodded, tucking Jack in once more. "Yes he was."

"I bet he thought you were beautiful."

She kissed his forehead. "Uncle Henry doesn't notice things like that, darling."

"Silly Mummy," Jack murmured before closing his eyes.

Eliza left Jack to his dreams, and entered her bedroom. Piece by piece, she dismantled her illusions of glamour, scattering bobby pins and jewelry about in a tray on her bedside table. The gown that had so entranced every male at the party was put away, and a plain cotton nightgown was put on in its' place. Eliza meticulously brushed her hair, erasing the elaborate style it held earlier, and plaited it into a single, thick braid. She smiled at her reflection, relieved to see her reliable, serviceable self in the looking-glass. It had been wonderful to be the center of attention - that she could not deny - but there had been an underlying air of danger, as though she had sparked a series of events that could not be reversed.

With a sigh she crawled under the covers and pulled them against herself tightly. She glanced over her shoulder, at the other side of her bed, and for the first time in ages she noticed how very empty it was. She closed her eyes to escape the feeling, and ended up seeing _him_.

Henry wondered if anyone had truly ever died from humiliation. Surely, if not, he could prove the exception. He had walked all the way back to Wimpole Street, and promptly locked himself up in his study, intent on drinking away any memory of his actions. Throwing around his fists like he was some sort of back-alley pugilist, and at his age! Disgusting.

His glass of port went down bitterly, as his mind added that he had fought for a 'woman' of all things.

"Higgins, old chap - open the door!"

"Go to bed, Pickering - I'm in no mood to explain myself tonight!" Henry bellowed back.

"Come now, it's not as bad as all that - I daresay that whelp had it coming to him, don't you?"

"Go. Away."

There was a pause. "Well, that's fine then. I will see you in the morning, Higgins." If Henry was not mistaken, there was a hurt tone in Pickering's reply. Oh, well - it's not like it was the first time Henry had even been cross. It was likely it would not be the last time, either.

She made him feel like an old fool. Who did she think she was, waltzing into his mother's like that, dressed the way she was? He had not felt such a violent, heady desire for someone since he had been a very young man, when those sorts of feelings were new and uncharted. That foolish boy had only drunkenly confessed what Henry himself was thinking at that moment. Still, it had been jarring to hear one's innermost thoughts echoed in an inebriated slur from someone over two decades younger.

It pained him to know that he could have had her - should have had her - years ago. They would have arrived at that party together, arm-in-arm, and the rest of those swains would have had to keep their leering at a discreet distance. After all, she was the wife of their hostess's son! He would have been proud, rather than threatened.

He was a colossal idiot.

Oh, god - Linton Pryce was actively pursuing her hand. Linton Pryce was handsome, rich, and would willingly repair the rift between Eliza and Jack's grandmother if need be, thus giving the boy a legitimate family.

Blast.

Henry poured himself another drink, and then another. He went on in this fashion until sleep overtook him. Apparently, even in a drunken stupor, he could not escape _her_, for she was waiting for him.

_"Hello Professor," _Eliza greeted. She was standing by the sofa he was laying on, staring down at him with a curious smile. She was wearing that damned indecent frock.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you off to marry that Linton fellow?"

_"My, but your brain works fast, Professor._ _I hardly know Mr. Pryce; why on earth would I marry him?"_

"You hardly knew Freddy."

_"This is true. You are right, Professor - I should marry that rich, handsome man." _She turned her back to him, and started walking away. Henry sat up, and grabbed at her left hand, finding it cold, and smooth - like marble. With a tug, she was pulled backwards, forced to sit at his side. He kept a firm grasp on her hand.

"Like hell."

_"Professor..."_

"I will not sit by and watch another man marry you."

_"Then do not 'sit by and watch'. Come to me, Professor - tell me all, or you will lose us both."_

"You ask much of this old bachelor, Eliza."

_"Do I really?" _She kissed his cheek, the icy shock of her lips enough to give him a start.

He awoke, head pounding, and thoroughly frustrated. Fantasy would not suffice any longer.

The question now was: How?

How could he possibly compete with Linton Pryce? Granted, he knew absolutely everything there was to know about Eliza, a fact that was first brought to his attention when she had lived with him and his mother. On the downside, she could say the same thing about him, and a deviation from the behavior expected of him would more than likely cause concern, rather than palpatations.

Oh, why the devil did men have to act so silly to get a wife? If only women could oblige him by being more like a...

Best not to dwell there.

He contemplated a life where she married Linton Pryce, and left London for parts unknown, undoubtedly to travel with the man and possibly Jack's grandmother. Perhaps she would return once in a while to visit with her old friends, and Jack would vaguely remember a time when 'Uncle Henry' was the center of his little world. Uncle Henry: The Man Whom Mummy Tolerated. Look how old he's grown, how bitter and isolated; what a funny old thing!

This was insupportable.

Henry dragged himself from the sofa, and stretched out cramped muscles. His right hand hurt like the very devil, and upon inspection he realized that it was broken.

"Damn." Fisticuffs at his age, indeed. Mrs. Pearce would simply have to bind it.

After returning to his room to sleep off the rest of his hangover, and allowing Mrs. Pearce to force coffee down his throat and care for his wound, he decided it was time to start the monumental task of keeping Eliza. He donned his best tweed, squared his shoulders, and started for the front door. He would not propose today, oh no - this was a delicate matter that required a delicate, subtle hand. What was that ridiculous proverb?

"'Softly, softly, catchee monkey'." Henry gave a start, and turned to see Pickering standing behind him.

"What on earth, Pick - Are you a mind reader?"

"Higgins, you were muttering to yourself - quite loudly, I might add."

"Then you are a nosy parker."

"Perhaps - frankly, I couldn't be happier that you've finally come to your senses about Eliza."

Henry scoffed. "Romantic old fool."

"Aren't we all? Mind you don't make a botch of things again." Pickering frowned. "If you hurt her again, you will have to answer to me."

Henry nodded. "Quite right. Well, off I go on this foolish business, I suppose."

They shook hands in a brotherly - albeit left-handed - sort of fashion, and Henry headed out the door.

He was relieved to find Eliza was once again the approachable lovely sort, and not the dark eyed vamp from the night before. Her hair was softly coiffed, allowing for a few curls to spring out from the bun and frame her face lovingly as she worked, oblivious to the man watching her from outside the front window of her shop. He took a moment to admire the sweet cornflower blue of her cotton frock, with its' lace peter pan collar, and violet floral print. She wore a matching violet cardigan, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal her slender forearms and wrists, as her long elegant fingers twisted and formed the corsage she was working on. She was not even an echo of the type of woman he despised; silly, vain, and devoted to making him miserable - well, she did make him miserable at times, but now was not one of those times.

With a deep breath, he stepped into her shop, his heart nearly stopping when she smiled at him. They stood awkwardly apart - she behind the counter, and he in a state of nervous paralysis three feet in front of her.

"Professor Higgins, I thought you had fled to Argentina after last night."

He colored quickly at the remark, and vaguely contemplated fleeing the mission at once.

"Come, I was just teasing. What did happen, by the way? None of the men are talking, and Clara has not been able to get a single word from her brother-in-law."

"Why don't you ask him? I've heard rumours that you've been seeing quite a lot of him." Oh. He did not mean for it to come out so petty-sounding.

"Oh, really? If rumours were instantly true, than you and I would have been living together in sin for years by now." Eliza planted her hands on her hips, and smirked, obviously pleased to have caused him further discomfort. Both of them were too engrossed in the conversation to be cognizant of the fact that the front door to the shop had been opened, and that they were not alone.

"I was not aware that such a rumour still existed."

"Then you have not seen Jack come home from school early with a bloodied lip and a warning from his headmaster to not quarrel in the schoolyard."

The revelation took Henry's breath away. "I beg your pardon?"

"Jack was suspended about a month ago for trying to thrash a boy. It took me a few days, but I managed to glean to reason for the fight. The boy called me a whore - I am astonished well-bred boys know such words - and then went on to say that Jack was your bastard, and that you were a coward for not fighting in the war." Eliza's voice was slightly hoarse with emotion by the end of the tale, and Henry detected that her eyes were suspiciously sparkling.

"Little ruffians."

"Indeed. Why have you come here?" Before Henry could answer, Eliza noticed his bandaged hand. "You're hurt!" She exclaimed, rushing from behind the counter and to his side before a very visible realization came over her, and she gasped aloud. "You? Professor, why?"

Once again, his reply was interrupted.

"Eliza, I would like to speak with you about my grandson."

Mrs. Pryce had come to call.


	22. A Bit of Her Own Back

A Better Man

Chapter Twenty-two

A Bit of Her Own Back

Author's Note: A thousand apologies about the delay in this chapter. I really, really am very sorry for keeping you all waiting. An explanation: I have been working on a short film that has been devouring alot of my spare time, and recently I ended my nearly six year relationship. Needless to say I've been a bit of a trainwreck. :/

I love you guys!

* * *

><p>Henry turned to the demanding voice, and an immediate scowl appeared on his face. As he had done in the park with Jack, his second instinct was to shuffle slightly to the left, so that Eliza was blocked from Mrs. Pryce's view. His stance was purely protective, and he tried very hard to make himself look quite tall to the tiny, plump woman. The two of them took a moment to exchange icy looks, while Eliza cleared her throat several times in an attempt to get Henry's attention.<p>

"Professor." Henry turned his head a fraction, catching Eliza's impatient look from over his shoulder. With a sigh, he stepped to one side, allowing the women to see each other, face-to-face. He made no attempt to leave the store.

"I daresay this is a private conversation," the old woman snapped at Henry.

"I daresay that this shop is open to the public, and I will not have my search for buttonholes be derailed by female drama." Henry then turned from the ladies, and began to put on a show of browsing the shop.

"Professor, it is alright; I will be alright," Eliza pleaded. Their eyes met, and she gave him her most reassuring smile. "The buttonholes will be here when you return."

Buttonholes, indeed. "Very well, Eliza." Henry made sure to fix Mrs. Pryce with the most withering look he could muster, and held it as he exited the shop. Once out the door he took the position of sentry, a bit to the left and out of sight, but close enough to be able to hear any sort of disturbance.

Eliza calmly studied her longtime foe. Widowhood and great wealth had made the woman fatter than ever, and she was dressed to the nines in the clothing of the highest quality. Fashionable for the old victorian matrons, who were not quite ready for shorter hems.

"Mrs. Pryce, I am all astonishment - I did not know that you regarded Jack as your grandson." Eliza kept her tone steady and measured, never raising her voice.

"We have had some difficulty in the past, Eliza - I freely admit that - but you must allow me to be a presence in the child's life."

"Why?" Casual. Genuinely curious, without seeming overtly so. The query seemed to flummox Mrs. Pryce, evidenced by the way her large pale cheeks were marred with red splotches.

"Freddy was my son!" Mrs. Pryce cried, unable to keep the conversation civil. Her shoulders were squared, and her fists bawled up tightly, ready for a fight. Eliza thought she looked quite silly, and was unable to prevent the derisive snort that came from her.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Pryce, but didn't you disown Freddy? If I were to allow you into Jack's life and he did something to displease you, what then? Would you shun him as well?" Eliza sighed. "I am sorry, but he is just a little boy, and I will not subject him to that sort of confusion-"

"Confusion? Oh my dear girl, I could not confuse him anymore than you already have!" The observation managed to breach Eliza's defenses, and it was her turn to blush.

"I?"

Mrs. Pryce smirked, and stood a little taller, having found her mark.

"This silly little family you've constructed for him with the Higgins's. You are lying to that child, making him believe that Eleanor is his grandmother... and allowing your lover to have such a hand in raising him- "

"Stop right there!" Eliza was all fury, straight as a ramrod, though she trembled from head to toe. "You have finally hit upon the reason I shall never allow a relationship between my son and yourself. Your cruel slander has done nothing but harm for Jack ever since the moment is escaped from your poisonous lips. He has no friends, and was nearly expelled for defending me against one of your vile rumours! Why on earth would I allow you to build a rapport with him after that?"

"He is my flesh and blood!"

Eliza shook her head. "I have seen the way you treat your flesh and blood, how you twist and weaken them, and I want none of it. You made Freddy so dependent on you that he even persisted in writing to you after the estrangement-"

"No, he did not."

Eliza inhaled sharply, and blinked several times. "What?"

Mrs. Pryce's eyes went to the floor, seemingly shamed by something. "That was a lie. Freddy was dead, and I wanted to hurt you so very much. He never wrote to me after I disowned him, not a line."

The opponents stood silently after that admission. Eliza realized that in confessing the falsehood, Mrs. Pryce was offering herself up as humbly as she could for the sake of seeing Jack. Eliza was very nearly moved by it.

"You saw him in the park, and you thought of Freddy."

"I did. They look so much alike... those eyes."

"It does not change the fact that you have severely damaged my reputation and his with your lies. I am not Professor Higgin's lover. I never have been."

"Will you allow me to see him? My son-in-law has spoken to me about his interest in you; surely you must see that the best course of action would be to allow me my way in this, especially if you will someday become engaged to him."

Eliza laughed. "Linton Pryce? He is a very nice man, I am sure, but I shan't be getting married any time soon... least of all to him."

"And why not? He is rich, he is handsome, and he is fond of you."

Eliza frowned, and planted her hands on her hips. "Matchmaking for me will not help your case."

"And denying your son a solid father figure will not help yours!"

Eliza felt the sting of that retort keenly, although she tried to school her features as to not betray her inner turmoil. It was true that she had been a long time on her own... but still, she would not stand aside and let a harpy like Mrs. Pryce try and hand out life lessons to her. She was not the vulnerable, pregnant young girl she had been all those years ago, numbed with grief and void of fight.

"My life is my own, and Jack is my son. It is true that you bore his father, but you gave up the right to know my son a long time ago. There was a time where you would have done anything to protect Freddy from what you felt was harmful to him, and I am doing the same for his son. You will not ever approach him, and rest assured that if we see you coming our way on the street, we will go to the trouble of crossing to the other side." Eliza let out a shuddering sigh, trembling with pent-up emotion. Mrs. Pryce stood stricken and pale, quietly taking her punishment. "Now, if you have no business here that includes putting money in my till, I would like very much for you to leave."

Eliza turned her back, and waited for the slamming over the door. Several moments later, the door opened once more and Professor Higgins entered.

"You weren't very far away, were you?" Eliza inquired, turning slowly to face him. He looked a bit sheepish.

"I did not hear a word, I swear."

"Liar."

"You were magnificent." Eliza blushed and averted her eyes under his praise, rare thing that it was.

"Does that Linton Pryce repel you so?"

"He is not what I envision for myself."

Professor Higgins smirked. "You do not envision yourself to be extravagantly rich and comfortable?"

"I do not see myself living forever with someone I do not love."

She noticed his sharp intake of breath, and the nervous way he wrung his hands together. "Always the romantic, Eliza."

Eliza smiled. "Always."

Professor Higgins replied with something so very jumbled in incoherent that Eliza missed it altogether.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Would you care to come to this silly ballet with me tonight? Mother cannot attend and it falls on me to find a replacement."

Eliza felt as though she could have been knocked over with a feather. First her erstwhile mother-in-law demanding a relationship with her son, and now Professor Higgins was asking her on an outing!


	23. The Ballet

A Better Man

Chapter Twenty Two

The Ballet

Author's note: Sorry about the delay... again. I've been going through a move. Unfortunately, there might be another delay as I have to rely on using my roommate's computer to write and they need it primarily for school. However, I should have my very own laptop by January! ... I will try to update before then, though.

PS: Have fun spotting the slightly altered quote from "Gigi"! :)

* * *

><p>"What are you going to wear?" Clara inquired from behind her fashion periodical. She was sprawled on her stomach on Eliza's bed, kicking up her stockinged legs in a childish gesture. Eliza was seated at her vanity table in a robe, brushing through her long dark hair. She pointed across the room to a chair where the gown from Eleanor's birthday party waited.<p>

"That."

"Oh."

Eliza set down her brush, and turned to the girl, who was still browsing obliviously.

"Oh?"

Clara looked up and gave Eliza a contrite smile before setting down the periodical and pulling herself into a sitting position, smoothing over her skirt.

"Well, darling, he's seen you in that, hasn't he?"

Eliza nodded, frowning. "Yes, he has, what of it?"

Clara shrugged, picking off an invisible piece of lint from her skirt. "Oh, the old thing is lovely, of course-"

"'Old Thing'? Clara, I've only just purchased it!"

"Yes you did. It's a very lovely, daring gown and the professor was quite enchanted by it I am sure. However, he's used to seeing you in it, isn't he?"

"I daresay he's seen me in a great deal of gowns several times, I don't exactly have a grand wardrobe."

Clara got up from the bed and approached Eliza, taking up the brush and running it through Eliza's hair with a gentle expertise. "Oh, I know darling. Perhaps it does not matter."

"Why wouldn't it matter?"

Clara shrugged, and sighed. "Oh, he's such a stodgy old fellow. I am sure he wouldn't even pay attention to such things, buried in Academia the way he is."

Eliza turned her head in a violent gesture that caused the brush to catch and tear at her hair, bringing tears to the corners of her angry eyes.

"Stodgy? You can leave right now if you are going to slander him!"

A grin lit across Clara's features as she stepped back from Eliza's rage.

"Can I not? It was all quite fashionable for you to do so not so very long ago- what has changed?"

"I lo-..." Eliza stopped herself, and covered her mouth in horror at the words that nearly tumbled out.

Clara threw down the brush with a cry of joy, and pointed an accusatory finger at Eliza. Her expression screamed 'I Have You Now!'.

"Aha! There it is!"

Eliza picked up the brush from the floor and turned back to the looking-glass, attacking her hair with vehemence, a very put-out expression on her face.

"I can't imagine what you mean."

Clara burst out into giggle, and wrapped her arms about Eliza from behind, resting her head on the angry woman's shoulder.

"Oh, how quick you are to anger! Don't be ashamed, Eliza... I knew it all along."

"Knew what?"

"Why - that you loved Professor Higgins of course!"

"Don't hug me so tight, Clara, I can't breath."

Clara pulled away, still grinning. "You silly goose! What fun you are to tease! I am sure Professor Higgins absolutely adores baiting you."

"He revels in it."

Once Eliza calmed down a bit more, Clara finished placing her hair into a charming chignon, decorated with a crimson silk band.

"Now, stay here for a moment, and do not put that dress on. I will be return shortly," Clara instructed, before leaving Eliza alone to her thoughts. So she loved Professor Higgins.

"How shocking," Eliza murmured, dabbing a bit of perfume behind her earlobes.

Clara returned twenty minutes later, bearing a garment bag, and a jewelry box. The jewels were small diamond studs, and a diamond choker reminiscent of the one she had worn at the embassy ball, albeit less elaborate. Eliza raised an eyebrow at the finery, sending Clara an inquiring look.

"Oh, it was just a trifle from some dull prince I was chummy with."

"Was he a great prince?"

"No, a little one. Great princes do not give very large stones."

"Why not?"

"In my opinion it's because they don't feel they have to."

Eliza blushed. Clara lived a much more colorful life than Eliza could ever conceive of.

The gown was lovely, and of a simpler cut than the one Eliza was planning on wearing. It was crimson silk, like the band in her hair. The neckline plunged into a daring 'V', as did the back. The sleeves were non-existent, instead the gown tied at each shoulder, and was accented with matching rhinestone roses. The gown was fitted slightly from below the bodice to the hips, where the skirt flared out and fell to just below the knee. Clara provided matching mary jane heels, with the same rhinestone roses at the buckles. Eliza marvelled at her friend's resourcefulness.

"You are made for fashion, Eliza. It's a shame you won't let me bob your hair..."

Eliza smiled at Clara. "It would be more convenient, to be sure, but I just can't bring myself to part with it."

"Mummy! Uncle Henry is here and he looks like a real toff!" Jack's boisterous announcement filled the air. Clara gave Eliza an astonished glance.

"Dad paid one of his rare visits the other day, and Jack's vocabulary hasn't recovered since."

"Ah... well, shall we go greet your stodgy old professor?"

Eliza blushed. "Yes."

Henry gently scolded Jack for the boy's use of slang, and ruffled his hair. The sound of Eliza's bedroom door opening pulled his attention in her direction and he was stunned with what he saw. True, the dress at his mother's party had been of a much more daring cut, but this... he had never seen her in crimson. Such a shade never failed to engage the mind of every unsuspecting male that came across it. The way the silk whispered and danced across her curves, and the realization that once again she could hardly be wearing anything substantial beneath the gown...

"Uncle Henry, your face has gone all red!"

"Only because your mother keeps this flat like a furnace... h-hello, Eliza."

"Hello, Professor Higgins."

His name on her lips affected him like the most exquisitely composed symphony. Damn! He was becoming foolish in his old age. He was vaguely aware that Jack was trying to shove a cloak in his hands. Snapping himself out of his reverie, Henry took it from the boy and held it open for Eliza. She was his for the night. His.

Eliza smiled before approaching him and allowing him to place the cloak about her shoulders, and Henry wondered if one could suffer a heart attack from such a sight. Impulsively, he leaned forward and whispered in a voice he knew only she could hear, "You look lovely."

She blushed to the very tips of her ears, a sight Henry found damned irresistable.

After saying their goodbyes' to Jack and Clara, Henry offered his arm to Eliza, and led her out into the night.

The taxi ride to the theatre was made in companionable silence. Henry thought he felt Eliza make a few tenative glances in his direction, and he tried desperately to catch her eye. She resisted, shy as a butterfly. He looked down at their gloved hands, so close that a pen would scarcely have room to set between the two. The slightest twitch of his pinky would bring him close enough to caress her own. His hands trembled from the effort to resist doing just that. God in heaven, she smelled divine!

_Quit becoming everything you hate, you goat!_

The taxi came to a halt in front of the theatre, and the pair was ushered out into the chilly air. Eliza held Henry's arm a little tighter, as though to steal his warmth.

He was not at all invested in the ballet. Not only did he find the art a bit dull, despised 'Giselle', he was also distracted by the pleasure of watching Eliza's reaction to it. He realized that he and Pickering had never taken her to the theatre, and that she had not had the money, nor the opportunity when married to Freddy. He was witnessing a first, and it was endlessly entertaining.

Eliza refused to hide her enthusiasm at the show before her. Everything she found thrilling was punctuated with a romantic sigh, or a gasp. Henry found himself shooting glares at the nearby entreaties for her to contain herself. Let them hiss at her for silence at their own peril.

Henry nearly jumped out of his chair when Eliza's hand shot out to grasp his. Her face was ashen and tearful, and he was tempted to ask what ailed her, until he noticed that their was a death scene being portrayed on the stage. She really was a tender thing.

Regrettably, the ballet ended, and Henry was faced with the unhappy task of returning her to her flat.

"Why don't we walk, Professor?" Eliza asked, as they waited for a taxi.

"Walk? It's damned cold out, woman."

Eliza smiled, and tilted her head to one side. "Ah suppose it would be cold to a toff like you, sir," she teased in her old way.

"Filthy little guttersnipe," he replied with a laugh.

"Ah washed me face and 'and 'fore I come, I did." At that, the mood became tense. Henry was struck with the memory of all the nights he spent listening to that very phrase on the phonograph. He coughed, and averted his eyes, unwilling to let her see the hurt within them.

"It's damned cold, Eliza."

"Professor?" She had sensed it. Of course she did. Clever girl.

"Here comes a taxi, now."

He felt her hand on his shoulder, and his first instinct was to shrug her off. He resisted, and instead hesitantly turned to face her.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Her eyes were large and pleading.

His resolve to wait for the 'right' moment was beginning to fail.

"We've missed the taxi."

"Hang the taxi, Professor! What is the matter?"

A couple passing by gasped upon overhearing Eliza's abuse of the english tongue.

"Oh for heavens sake, move along!" Henry shouted at them, causing them to flee. He turned back to Eliza. "I should have thought it obvious by now."

"Pardon me?"

"'The Matter' is you, you stupid girl!"

Eliza gasped angrily, and turned from him in order to make a retreat. Henry grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. Their noses nearly collided from the force of his pull. "Don't run from me, Eliza. Not anymore."

"I won't be insulted by you after I've shown concern for your well-being!"

"Hang your concern, I don't want it." He spat back, releasing her.

Eliza took a few steps back raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and what is it you want?"

Henry looked around to ensure the street was deserted, or at the very least, there were no interested parties watching. He stepped foward so that they were in close proximity once more.

"You."


	24. Epilogue

A Better Man

Epilogue

Author's Note: Sorry guys! School, distractions, drama, and writer's block are solely to blame. :(

* * *

><p>Henry Higgins was once again in a church, and of his own free will. It happened very infrequently in his not-so-short life. Eliza was sitting next to him in the front pew, smiling serenely. Henry often wondered how the ravages of time seemed to never touch his little guttersnipe, when getting out of bed and walking down the stairs were now a chore for him. There were lines around her eyes and mouth, it was true, but they were fine, barely perceptible, and did nothing to diminish the beauty of those features. Her rich dark hair only held a few strands of silver. The very idea that she had agreed to marry him was staggering. He was not young when they walked down the altar, and he was remarkably less so now, as they witnessed the marriage of her-... their son Jack.<p>

"She is a silly creature," Henry whispered to Eliza as Miranda Dobbins, soon to be Hill, walked down the aisle to her betrothed. The girl had features as delicate as a china doll; cornflower blue eyes framed by long, thick lashes, a little snip of a slightly upturned nose with a smattering of freckles on the bridge, and a cupid's bow of a mouth. Her strawberry-blonde hair was piled in curls on top of her pretty head, and she carried a bouquet of pink lilies that matched her suit. The girl's entire ensemble had been designed by Clara, whose sobs could be heard throughout entire church. The affair was small, and informal, as Jack's leave from the army was brief.

"She is a nurse for the military, you can hardly be a silly creature when you are bandaging grotesque wounds," Eliza hissed back, pinching his arm.

"You were an exceedingly silly creature, and managed just fine." Eliza shot him a glare that removed the smug grin from his face. "You are still so very easy to bait, my dear." He took her hand and squeezed.

"Hush now. The ceremony is starting."

Henry tried valiantly to pay attention to Jack's nuptials, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about a cold night, and a ballet, and the woman who gaped incredulously at him when he confessed that what he wanted was her.

_"Do not make me flower the sentiment with drivel, Eliza. I'm not a romantic man." _He had informed her as she repeated his declaration. The very thought of him being the romantic sort was enough to pull Eliza out of her astonished stupor. She snorted in a very unladylike manner, and agreed with him whole-heartedly.

_"And I want you," _She had confessed. Were he a demonstrative man, he would have pulled her into his arms right then and there, but he had not. He decided instead to be the inquisitive man.

_"How long?" _

"My whole life, it would seem."

Still unable to express what he wanted so desperately to do, Henry instead took her hands into his own, and brought them to his lips to kiss them. It was not her mouth, but he would never allow himself to passionately kiss someone in public, no matter how much he wanted.

Eliza was not that disciplined. Her mouth was on his for a brief, thrilling moment, causing his grip to tighten on her gloved hands. She looked contrite as she pulled away.

_"Oh, God. I shouldn't have done that... Professor, I am so very sor-" _He lost the war with his emotions, and cut her off by reciprocating her innocent kiss. He hands flew to her face, cupping it gently as he deepened the kiss, pulling away only when she moaned slightly into his mouth.

_"Well now that's done, Henry Higgins. You'll have to marry me. There are witnesses to your shameless debauchery", _she whispered, turning her gaze over his shoulder. He craned his neck to see a pair of ruffians, ages six and eight, staring in Henry and Eliza's direction. He turned back to her.

_"I suppose I will do just that, if you are open to the idea."_

Turns out she had been very open to the idea.

They had stood at the very altar that Jack and his beloved stood at, only a lifetime ago. Their own wedding was just as sparsely attended, although with Miranda's circle of girlfriends, this ceremony was a bit more giddy than Henry and Eliza's reserved affair.

Jack had still been a child. Henry choked back the emotion that had plagued him ever since the boy had enlisted. Not a boy anymore... a man. Henry and Eliza's union did not produce any children, but Henry didn't care. His Jack had been son enough. Ten boys of his own blood couldn't have made Henry as proud as he was of the child he had helped raise since infancy. He prayed Jack would return from the war to have a long fulfilling life with the silly girl he had chosen. He prayed the boy would have decades more time on the earth than his poor father, Freddy.

Now his attention was on the ceremony. Miranda was glowing with girlish delight, undoubtedly pleased with her choice of husband, and Jack was blushing. There had been nothing but praise for the girl in the letters he sent home. She had nursed a bullet wound that he retrieved. Nothing to cause alarm, and certainly not the sort of wound that would debilitate and ultimately send him home.

Eliza absolutely adored her, of course. Henry supposed that there was a part of him that liked the girl as well. Her delicate appearance did not mirror her inner-strength, clearly.

Just as Eliza's steel spine was masked by lace, silk, and an achingly sweet figure.

Why did she stay with someone as old as he? Henry was nearing blindness, as was constantly plagued by a rhuematism that exacerbated his ill temper. Yet, she stayed, and he was grateful for that.

He lifted a hand to tuck a stray stand of hair behind her ear, and she smiled at him. Why had he wasted so many years not being with her? Foolish. Now it seemed that their days were numbered.

"Don't give me that sour look, Henry Higgins." Eliza chided.

He managed to smile back at her. He had gotten his lifetime with the squashed cabbage leaf of Covent Garden, and for that gift, he would put away his regrets forever.

"Who is being sour, you silly girl?" He asked.

End.


End file.
